


Just One More Chance

by Penguin117



Category: The Witcher (TV), Wiedźmin | The Witcher (Video Game), Wiedźmin | The Witcher - All Media Types
Genre: Angry Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia, Angst, Gen, Hurt Jaskier | Dandelion, Hurt/Comfort, Kidnapping, Nilfgaard, Reconciliation, Torture, am i right?, i mean what better way to rekindle a flame then breaking a few sticks
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-02-18
Updated: 2020-03-18
Packaged: 2021-02-28 05:27:30
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 11
Words: 25,071
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22768522
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Penguin117/pseuds/Penguin117
Summary: Its been nearly a year since they'd parted ways and Jaskier was just fine with that. Honestly. He was getting by just fine before some Nilfgaardian bastards decided to barge right into his path and now he's at his wits end.Why would they think Geralt would ever come back for him?
Relationships: Cirilla Fiona Elen Riannon & Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia, Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia & Jaskier | Dandelion, Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia & Yennefer z Vengerbergu | Yennefer of Vengerberg
Comments: 57
Kudos: 265





	1. Rude Awakening

Icy water brought him back to awareness, like a slap from mother nature herself. Sputtering, he shook his head, attempting to curl in on himself before hissing in pain. Right, his ribs.

"Hello again, little _songbird_." 

Jaskier brought his eyes upward, struggling to keep his breathing even. Even then, the coughing only increased once he was awake. He'd glared at the guard in front of him, with every inch of his soul he tried his best to burn through his skull what he'd hoped was something intimidating. The guard still smiled, so probably not. Jaskier sighed tiredly, letting his head fall again. "Can't you assholes let me sleep for another hour?" A hand gripped his hair tightly, yanking his head up and to the side. He couldn't help the noise that escaped, feeling the injury above his temple cry in protest.

"You're not to sleep until we either get the information we need," The guard, his name just now forgotten from Jaskier's blurred mind, pushed his head back with a grunt. "Or capture the man we've been looking for."

Jaskier grit his teeth, willing the floor beneath his feet to finally stop swirling wherever he looked. If he had to guess, its been maybe about a day since he'd been brought here. At least that was his guess from the soreness in his shoulders, thanks to his wrists being pulled behind him by the chain. At least they'd given him the pleasure of having his legs free to stretch out in front of him. And at least he still had breath in his lungs. "Once again," Jaskier coughed, sitting as upright as he could manage, "You've got the wrong bard, I'm afraid. Perhaps I could point you to another singer who gives a shit. Though I warn you, their singing won't be as _goo_ -" His head snapped to the right after the strike, leaving his jaw pulsing with dull pain. "Yeah, okay. Fair."

" _Enough!_ " The guard squatted to meet Jaskier's eye level, gaze brimming with rage and annoyance. "Either you tell us what we want or we'll tear it out of you as the life leaves your eyes. The Captain gives no shits about your well being, much less now that you've refused to submit." 

Now that the pain had allowed for Jaskier's focus to return, he could notice the scar under the guard's eye. It travelled from just below the eye into a curved line tucking under his chin. It still looked fresh, or at least never correctly healed. It looked disgusting, even considering how many scars Jaskier had seen before. Of course, he'd seen old ones, ones that had faded with time. Even the newer ones that _he'd_ tried to tend to never looked this bad. Maybe Geralt-

_Geralt._

Jaskier shook the thought from himself, feeling the familiar lump in his throat begin to settle. It would do nothing for him if he welcomed the thought of his Witcher back in. It had been too long since he'd even heard rumors of Geralt's actions throughout his travels. Travels without him. _For good._ Even if Geralt _did_ hear about Jaskier's disappearance, he'd probably think of it as a blessing. Finally receiving peace for all the 

His mind was sent reeling from the next hit.

"How do we find the Witcher? If you give me any information the next weapon to come through those doors won't be necessary, you little shit!" The horribly scarred man pulled him to his feet, albeit shaking ones. Face to face in a distance that was much too close for Jaskier's smelling preference, the guard pointed a gloved finger to the heavy wooden door behind him. The only door in the room. Too many hours spent looking at the door. Too many minutes passing as the man continued glaring into the bard's steeled face, determination clear. 

"Fuck off." Jaskier lowly growled, wadding up enough spit to land on the armor against his chest. If he'd learned anything from his travels, anything from Geralt, it was that he was much more stubborn than others would ever hope to know. Despite their shattered friendship, despite the passing ache that would fall onto Jaskier's shoulders when people would ask for the tale of the White Wolf, he would never betray that trust they'd given each other. Yes, he didn't know anything about Geralt since that day. And he most likely wouldn't live long enough to catch a glimpse of that white hair in the moonlight again. But if his struggle here would at least buy Geralt some time to live another day, he'd take it. "Fuck _Off_. "

His back hit the stone immediately, rushing the air out of his lungs and leaving him gasping. He'd heard the shaking yell of the infuriated guard before hearing the door burst open. They brought in a pot, and for a moment Jaskier thought he'd finally be poisoned for his troubles. But the bright red metal they'd taken out stilled his heart. 

_They wouldn't_

It took two guards to hold him against the stone, his cries nearly muffled as he struggled fiercely in their grasp. He could see the boots getting closer.

_Please_

Someone ripped the back of his shirt, he nearly felt the blade nick his skin when it glided through the dirty silk. They ignored his screaming once more.

_Geralt._

When he felt something... _Wrong_ hit his skin, he lost all sense. He vaguely heard scuffling, a stomach-churning sizzle of flesh and a loud shrill cry. It was only when he'd realized, out of breath, that it was his own voice he'd been hearing that he saw white. And finally gained peace.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> lemme know what you think! or if i need anything improved omg


	2. Shadows Fall

He did not think about him anymore.

"You, there! Bard!"

He absolutely did not think about him at all anymore.

" _Bard!_ Keep them entertained, would you?

Jaskier lifted his ale with a smug grin, almost as if toasting the other travellers in the tavern. "Of course, my good man. Who am I to keep a wonderfully receptive crowd waiting?" He ignored the eyeroll of the innkeeper, who was simply using him to distract the patrons into buying another round of drinks. It had been their agreement when Jaskier had first arrived into the town a few months back. It had been the first town he'd stepped foot in that didn't have a distinct mildewy scent drafting about. Sure the rest of the towns had been nice, welcoming with arms and legs but they didn't feel too great. Especially since they were still rather close to the mountains where Ger-

Not thinking about it.

Jaskier began playing a livelier tune, walking around the tavern and barmaid with a well-practiced skip in his step.

_"Oh, dear. Oh, my._

_There's trouble passing by._

_As we slip, rather silently around the watchful eyes."_

He did enjoy this part of the performances, the clapping in beats and cheers. Yes, most were drunken and on the verge of hacking up meals but he would take all he could get. It helped him focus if he just let the words fly through his lips, weaving tales for those willing to listen.

_"That pile of hay your father's grown will be enough to hide your moans."_

Another round of yells as several of the patrons attempted to sing along. Of course, they weren't as proficient with keeping up with the steadily increasing beat. It only took another verse before the only thing besides his singing was just rapid claps and laughter. So, all in all, it really wasn't his fault that he hadn't noticed the pair of hooded men who'd been sitting rather suspiciously at the darkest corner of the room. In fact, if you would ask him what he did notice, it would have been the amount of coin currently sitting on a plate he'd borrowed from the inn. It was a good night for him indeed. It had taken him only about another hour of his songs before the innkeeper declared the tavern closed and bodies began shuffling out the doors. "Thank you, everyone! Same time tomorrow? Don't keep a man _waiting_." He called out coyly, stopping to scoop up the coins into his pouch as he wiggled his fingers with a hand outstretched.

"Oi, Bard." Jaskier glanced up, barely managing to catch the loaf of bread with both hands. A few coins rang as they hit the ground, falling freely from his still open pouch. He grinned, feeling the still warm grain in his palm.

The man at the bar shrugged, busy wiping down old mugs. "That's for doubling my sales tonight."

Jaskier made a show of bowing, holding the bread against his chest. "Anything for the man currently giving me shelter." He heard a groan of annoyance before looking up and seeing no one else in the room. As always, the innkeeper was hard to please. His son? _Quite the opposite._ Calmly humming to himself, he picked up his lute and strolled out the doors. It had been a while since he'd found himself a proper place to rest for his nights. It only took about a minute to convince Dorian, that lovely, strong, and oh _so_ handsome son of that crotchety innkeeper, that he could help keep their tavern in high business. And so far, so good. Course, he did have to stay in the back shed instead of the rooms that were much more luxurious upstairs. But that hadn't technically been his own fault. If Dorian hadn't been so loud, his father wouldn't have found them upstairs _absolutely_ -

He paused in his steps, hearing a crunch in the dirt. It had been a while since he'd felt the hairs on the back of his neck stand up that quickly, almost like the time he and Geralt-

"Nope. Not doing that, thank you." He whispered, tugging the strap of his lute tightly in his grip. He took a breath, preparing an act in his mind that would hopefully not require any kind of confrontation. Bread in his pants, lute on his back. Not exactly something that screams "Dashingly handsome warrior". He glanced around his surroundings, moonlight illuminating the cobblestone walls of the buildings around him. Spotting no one, he began stepping backwards, trying not to turn his back to what he thought was a growing shadow. He bumped against something firm. "Oh, shit." He breathed out lowly, pulling his face into a wide grin before turning on his heels towards whatever he just walked into.

If he couldn't tell this man was indefinitely bad news by the look on his face, the symbol on his black armor definitely did it for him.

Jaskier took a step back, hoping the tavern door was still unlocked. He heard footsteps behind him. _Not good._ "Evening gentlemen, uh... Unfortunately, my performances are over for the night. You, know- Beauty sleep, relaxation, possibly adoration from one of my fans if I'm lucky." He let out a small yelp as the one in front of his shot a hand out to snag him, quickly ducking out of reach to try to scramble past. He'd made it about two feet before his arm was twisted behind him, pinning him to the wall. _Damn everyone, drunken slumbers too strong for them to hear this,_ He thought as someone began feeling his clothing. What were they searching him for? He hadn't even stepped foot near a nilfgaardian, let alone a soldier. He jumped, as the hands began lowering themselves, trailing to his pants. "Ah- N-Not to worry, just some bread in my pants." He huffed out a weak laugh, anxiety fueling his godforsaken _mouth Jaskier, shut it._ "Not that I'm not happy to see you all-"

One of the guards grunted and gave him a swift kick, nearly bringing him down to one knee.

"You're the Witcher's bard, are you not? The one that follows the 'White Wolf' like an abandoned _pup_." Another voice, gravelly and cruel called out behind him. Jaskier stifled a harsh laugh, holding his thigh with a steady hand. He'd probably get a boot-shaped bruise later. "I think you may be mistaken, I've not been involved with any Witcher. I'm just a bard." Jaskier glanced back, taking in quick succession the number of men currently surrounding him. Only two. Could be worse, for sure. They hadn't found dagger he'd kept in his boot since he'd stopped traveling alongside Geralt.

A firm grip yanked his hand away from his leg, holding it tightly to join his other hand at his back."There's no use lying, you shit. We've heard the tales you've spun about the bastard." 

"Tales are tales, not all of them a spun around truths," Jaskier muttered, nearly losing his footing as he was yanked upward and turned to face the Nilfgaard. If what Geralt anything Geralt had taught him had stuck, it was to make sure you held at least some of the cards in any situation. His card was his dagger. He could not lose it. It had saved him and Geralt before. "And the truth is I know nothing about him."

The soldier dismissed his words with a laugh, "I will be the judge of that, whether you agree to it or not."


	3. Missing Roach

He huffed indignantly, hands tightly bound in front of him as he was yanked behind one of the horses through the shadows. They'd been walking for almost the entire night, leaving the town far behind them as they travelled through unknown terrain. Well, at least unknown to _him_. And to be completely and totally honest he was surprised that they'd even allowed him the mercy of consciousness. "Might I ask what this situation is about? Because as much as I would love a walk through the dark," Jaskier chattered behind two increasingly annoyed men and horses, "I don't think I'm much help to anyone. I've barely helped that innkeeper if _anything_."

One of the men turned around in his saddle, giving the bard a cold glare. "If you can't manage to keep your mouth shut, I'm going to stitch it tight enough that you won't be able to breathe." 

Jaskier nervously swallowed, nodding in understanding. He was getting tired, had already tried to run the first time and all he got in return was a swollen eye. He hadn't even been able to eat the loaf he'd earned from his performance; They'd tossed it down an empty street as they left the town. So now he was cold, tired, hungry, and downright pissed that he'd been taken. This would have made much more sense to him when he'd been in the company of... of someone. Why the fuck would someone come to take him hostage now? When he was worth nothing more than a piece of bread tossed away? It didn't seem very smart, no one would pay them anything. Hell, he _himself_ probably couldn't afford whatever ransom they would eventually decide to charge.

He hit the horses backside, unaware of when they'd stopped moving. Jaskier watched anxiously as the two armed men began clambering down from their horses, ankle feeling the hard silver of his dagger. He'd have one chance if he was to make it away in time.

He stayed quiet, biding his time as the men set up their camp. Willing himself to stay very much awake and, as much as he'd absolutely love to be able to sleep in a nice warm bed, he's got to survive the night before then. "Excuse me," He called out, lifting his tied hands to the Nilfgaards currently creating a small fire. "I need to relieve myself if that's alright. He shook his hands once more, creating more ruckus.

"Feel free to piss in the pants you're wearing."

He lowered his shoulders with a curse, tactic failed. The rope was too short to allow him to reach his shoes, and Jaskier doubted they'd turn the other way long enough for him to raise one of his legs high enough to grasp the handle. Feeling a bit lost at what to do, he lowered his head against the horses flank. Tired as he was, he could ignore the stench of unwashed horse enough to rest for a bit. That rest only lasted for about 3 seconds before a sudden force hit his stomach and sent him somewhat to the ground, hands still tugged midair as the horse cried loudly. A mangled yelp left his lips as he tried to curl his legs up, protecting his ribs as best he could. "Did that horse just-"

He did his best to ignore the laughter by the fires. "She ain't one for strangers, bard. And best not be touching her." 

_Oh, so the horse hates him just as much as the men do. Perfect_. He wheezed into his shoulder, wincing at the strained muscles. _Think, Jaskier._ He maneuvered himself to his feet, this time making sure to leave a good space between him and the animal. _Obviously, I'm not gonna fight. I'm not a fighter._ He paused, watching as the two men whispered amongst themselves, not sparing a glance towards their charge. It looked like they were finally settling into their makeshift camp for the night. _If anytime would be good, I suppose now would be?_ He began lightly tugging at the rope binding his wrists. A distant huff and suddenly his back was whacked by a tail, but nothing else.

Progress.

He did his best to look nonchalant, ignoring the growing calls from his stomach as he registered the smell of meats over flame. He began twisting the ropes a bit rougher now, stopping when he felt the stallion beside him move.

_Damn these bastards and their intricate knots!_

He grimaced in silent frustration, letting his hands lower as the skin began to break. He glanced over again, one of them had begun lowering himself against a tree. The other one was still eating, leaving him with more time.

Willing himself to try, he began shuffling his wrists again, shutting his eyes when the skin began to tear against the fibres. He could feel the wet drips going down his arm, doing nothing but making the attempted escape more difficult. Another minute and he stopped again, bringing his arms close to try to ease the pain. He put fists over his eyes, slightly flinching when he met the tender skin under his left. _I can't bloody think of anything, if I don't do something soon they're probably going to whisk me off to some evil lair and mince me into stew. Would I be a good stew? No, fucking of course not Jaskier, what the hell are you rambling on about?_ He sighed, bringing his eyes up again. Evil man 1 was out, probably dreaming of giving him another black eye to match the first. Evil man 2 was... Shit, where'd he go?

He glanced around, leaning away from the horse as much as he could to try to spot him. It burned his wrists but he didn't care right now.Without warning, a hand gripped the back of his doublet and a swift arm yanked him upwards with a yelp. Before he managed to say another word, he found the lead binding him to the horse's saddle loosen. Jaskier stayed silent for once, watching as the guard held the end of his rope in a firm grip before lowering him to his feet. 

"Rather you not stay linked with my horse smelling like shit. If you have to piss, it better be quick." The black armor jerked at the rope, bringing his wrist injuries back to light with a hiss. 

* * *

It was only a minute before Jaskier was sent tumbling into the earth, launching up dead leaves and twigs where he'd fallen. It wasn't his best act, definitely not. Although you must have to give him some credit for even managing to persuade the guard to let him 'take his piss' in the woods. Have to preserve his dignity, being someone weak and unfit for forest life unlike them, as he'd so kindly put it. And for the most part, it worked until it didn't.

See, he was under surveillance from the moment he left camp. From the moment he began to present himself as someone peeing into a bush and not someone who was trying to not so subtly check to see if the guard behind him had brought a weapon. And if he did start to tear up a little when destiny decided that _No, No, Jaskier, you wonderful little bardling of pure talent, no this guard would not bring his sword_ , then, by all means, he deserved at least one tear for his troubles. He had to come up with his plan now. It was his only chance and sweet Melitele he was going to take it.

Step 1. _Fake up some drama._

He stumbled back, gasping loudly. "Oh gods, Oh _shit!_ There's a Monster in the bushes!" He scrambled backwards, into the very much annoyed guard and used his tied hands to point. By some kind of blessing, some kind of forest creature decided at that very movement to scurry in that general area, adding to his mischief. The guard tensed, keeping a hand firmly around Jaskier's sore wrists. "Quiet, idiot!" He tugged Jaskier alongside him to inspect the bushes, Jaskier who was now faking a panic. The bard jerked frantically, causing the guard to stumble as they walked, " _No, don't!_ It'll tear you limb from-"

Step 2. _Gain the upper hand._

He pushed forward suddenly, catching the guard off-balance enough to send them both sprawling to the ground. Praying they were far enough away from the camp that the other wouldn't hear the struggle, Jaskier clambered as quickly as he could over the guard, using his tied hands as a makeshift noose to try to choke him out. He may not be the strongest man alive, but Melitele willing he was going to stay _alive_. Another wide swipe colliding against his stomach had the wind nearly hammered out of him, but he clung onto the man's neck with everything he had. His struggle paid off and the body in his arms went limp, leaving him breathless and shaking as he unfurled his bound arms from the other. Jaskier quickly rolled to his side, curling up and holding his leg up in the air to cleanly catch his now dropped dagger. Another roll and he was on his feet, body left in the dirt and nothing but silence shadowing him.

Step 3. _Run like husband's home early_

And that he did, running as quickly as he could. His lungs were burning, feet running on nothing but cold fear as he ran through the dark. If he could actually see where he was going, have night vision like a certain someone, it would be easier. It was a bit like running with his eyes closed for all the good it did. But he was free. And making a swift path to the nearest town to buy himself a sturdy, a speedy horse-

His footing rolled underneath, sending him over a sudden log and his impact sent him nosediving into a small ditch. By the time he'd opened his eyes, his vision Mouth tasting like dirt, he groaned and realized he'd lost his dagger. _Shit_ , he had his dagger and he _fell_ , what if he'd stabbed himself? Survived thugs who tried to steal him away only to die from _his own stupidity?_ He sat up, heart racing and mind spinning as he tried to spot the shine of silver sticking out of him. He felt a breath slip shakily out when he'd spotted it lying a few feet away, barely able to notice it in the dirt. "Oh, thank you," Jaskier whispered to himself, placing his tied hands to the side as he got to his feet. He hit the ground, a quick cry of pain erupting from him.

His ankle was pulsing, aching pain flaring with every fastened breath. He could have sworn he'd heard a horse somewhere. His plan was dissolving.

He grit his teeth, biting his tongue to hide any noise as he slowly got to his feet again. Placing his right foot down sent another sharp spike of lightning though his leg and only sent him sprawling again. " _Oh...shit_." He breathed out in frustration, placing his forehead against the dead leaves and clenching the hands caught underneath him. " _Shit_ , no, no, no, no...don't do this you _moron_ , c'mon." He pushed the floor, getting as far as a half kneel before getting himself stuck. His foot wouldn't move without a fight and that fight was about to make him scream. He heard footsteps approaching, shuffling down the bank he'd fallen over and his body froze. Jaskier could feel his hands shaking as he turned his head, wide eyes catching the view of the guard he'd left at camp approaching him. _His sword was raised_.

"No, no! _Please_!" He fell backwards, lifting bound hands in front of him. The hilt struck him, sending him unconscious at the second impact.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> everytime i see little emails about comments or kudos i get so happy omg thank you guys!!


	4. The Sun Shines Differently

"How's the lesson?"

Geralt leaned against the door frame, watching as Yennefer trailed across the room with a large book. Ciri was seated at a small table, making faces as she scooped contents that were covered in some sort of slime into a glass bottle. 

It was pure luck that brought them near a cave where Yennefer had been taking refuge during the war, near _damn_ impossible that Geralt had even managed to stumble back into her life after her disappearance. Of course, their first encounter was anything but pleasant. Long heated arguments that escalated until a child proceeded to walk cautiously into the cave behind the witcher, causing Yen to pause. Another explanation led to calmer discussions and an agreement. Geralt and Ciri were welcome to stay in the cave, outfitted with a few homely items, until either Ciri had learned enough that she could travel with Geralt safely or Geralt believed her safety could be somewhere else. Considering it had been decades without finding another witcher, another _living_ witcher, they had stayed together.

"Well, she's finally realized that sometimes the brain of a corpse would be better in the hands of a mage then a grave." Yennefer sighed, closing the book as she turned to meet Geralt's gaze. "But she's doing better than I would have imagined," She turned back to face Ciri, catching the small smile on her beloved ward with one of her own. "Considering she'd been trailing behind _you_ all this time, I'm surprised she's able to hold a conversation."  
  
A small hushed laugh sent Geralt looking over Yen's shoulder in mock disapproval.

"But, also not why I called you in." Yennefer placed the book beside Ciri, leading Geralt to the entrance of their makeshift home. In the time that had passed, it barely even registered to be a cave. It was well adorned, several glass trinkets clinking with a breeze and a few places where they could eat meals together with the sun at their horizon. He could smell the stew boiling near the entrance, a constant reminder that their meals were never whatever he could scrounge up at camps before he ran out of time again. Yennefer handed him his bag, pointing in the distance. "We need more drowner brains and since I remember hearing rainfall last night, the lakes may have fresh creatures. Or corpses. _Either way_ ," She waved a hand, gently pushing at his side in that direction. "I need you to bring me what you can, Ciri's been asking to learn how to make that potion you carry in your pouch. The bluish one? Can't seem to remember the name."

"Swallow." Geralt hummed, bringing the bag's strap around his shoulders. It nearly caught on his armor before Yen had fixed it for him with a huff.

" _Oh, right_. Of course." She let out a small laugh, handing him his swords. "Honestly, you couldn't think of a more imaginative name? Something _creative_ at least. A bit like naming a dagger 'Puncture', don't you think?" She rolled her eyes with a smile as Geralt opened his mouth to retort, shoving him towards the hill again. "Get on with it, Geralt. Or I'll ask Ciri to rename all your things." With a wave, she turned back disappearing into the depths of the cave.

Geralt sighed, tugging on his swords with a small smile as he began trekking down the side of the mountain. It had taken him a little over an hour to make it to the lakeside, but the route was quiet besides the occasional birdsong. And yet.

His ears twitched, catching the sound of a muffled yelp and splash in the distance. _Of course_.

He unsheathed his sword, stepping out of the thicket in time to see a man begin getting dragged back into the waters. The wet claws digging into his pants were now drawing blood during the struggle. With a swift jump, he'd splashed beside the man and sliced the drowner's head clean off. It rolled into the water, neatly stopping beside the now freed stranger who took the opportunity to scream. "Wait, _Don't_ -" Geralt stepped towards the man, frowning when he'd heard the water ripple beside him. He was tackled, face to face with another of the drowner's pack as the villager scrambled for the shore. With a grunt, he'd managed to loosen the creature's grip long enough for him to give it a firm kick in the chest, sending it back to the waters with a screech. He kicked up his sword, twirling around to slice another drowner in two. Walking back to the man cowering in the sand, he launched his sword down, letting it impale the last of the creatures in the water. _Three drowners should be enough for a lesson._

_Maybe two._

"Are you alright?" Geralt crouched in front of the villager, leaning to the side to inspect the scratched thigh currently leaking into the lakeside. Nothing that would be a death sentence, but enough to need treatment. "Hmm." He opened his bag, taking out a small wrapped item and holding it out to the trembling man. Who refused to move and was instead taking the moment to _stare_ at him as he'd just grown another head. "It's potent herbs, should allow you to make your way to the nearest healer without dropping." Still not moving. He paused, glancing back at the corpses on the beach. He supposed it would be fair to think the man was in shock.

"Y-You're that white wolf, are you not?" The man seemed to take a breath, taking the bundle of herbs into his still trembling hands. "The one in the songs."

Geralt stood, making his way to collect the drowner heads now that the man had gotten ahold of himself. "I'm just a witcher, nothing else." He called back, stuffing the bloodied heads down inside and making a mental note to wash the bag later. He glanced over his shoulder, hearing the crunch of sand approach. The man was now holding a small bag of coin in outstretched hands, looking Geralt with desperation in his eyes. "My name is Dorian. I need you to search for someone. Please, I-"

Geralt got to his feet, lightly pushing away the coin purse. "I kill monsters, I don't hunt humans." He'd prefer to just get back to the cave and away from any human drama again, feeling he's learned his lesson from his last few adventures. His involvement with people seemed to cause nothing but pain and lashing out. Words that should not have been said. He began walking towards the forest again, taking a moment to wipe his the blood from his sword. " _Listen to me_ -" Geralt growled as he took a step to the side, avoiding the hand attempting to grasp him.

The man harshly pressed a pouch to Geralt's chest, firm and unwavering. "I _have_ to give this to you!" He struggled as Geralt, patience waning, began taking his arms into his hands to try to pry him off. "You are Geralt of Rivia! The witcher with the white hair and golden eyes and if you don't take this, they'll kill my father and they'll kill Jaskier as well!"

Geralt felt his stomach clench, grip on the man tightening. He must have misheard. Must have gotten hit hard when he was tackled. This wasn't possible. _"What did you just say?"_

The man pulled his arms free, holding them close before Geralt's strength gave them cause to bruise. "They... They beat my father into revealing where he slept over two nights ago. It wasn't supposed to end up with him kidnapped! Yes, my father _hated_ him but-"

Geralt held both of the man's shoulders tightly, tension dripping down his back. "What happened to _Jaskier_?" He had figured the bard would live a better life after their...his words. He knew he had crossed the line but whenever he'd attempted to find the bard again, it was as though he would miss him by days. Before long, Geralt was simply hearing past stories about the bard's escapades with new lovers and songs appearing through another's voice. It was his own fault, his own damned words that echoed in his mind when he had found himself alone. In silent camps. It was supposed to be a way to keep others at a safer distance, rather than by his side where they could get hurt. He should have tried harder to reconcile, to find his _friend._ But now... now may be the last time he can hope to try. "Who took him?"

Dorian lowered his head, letting his shoulder's sag with relief that his cries were being listened to. "Nilfgaard. Captain's name is Vedran, he's taken up a room in my father's inn a few town's to the west." He cautiously raised the pouch, eyeing the still unmoving witcher curiously. A firm hand pushed it back to him and he faltered, glancing up to meet a steeled gaze. The witcher began to move at incredible speed up into the hills, glaring into thin air. "Where are you going?" Dorian cried out, attempting to follow. "The town is that way! Please, you must listen!" He yelped as his collar was yanked, pulling him close to a fierce gaze.

"I'm getting my things. Keep your money, and if you want to stay breathing then do not follow me." The warning blew hot air into his face, and he held tightly to the fist.

Dorian hit the dirt, unceremoniously dropped from the witchers hands and nearly tumbling backwards. He watched as the white hair disappeared within the trees, finally gaining strength to scramble to his feet and begin running for his home.


	5. Shattered Shields

His ears were aware of his surroundings before he'd opened his eyes. A distant drip, fire crackling and by now he could most definitely feel the two pairs of arms propping him up like a drunk being walked by his friends. But memory came to him like a sudden spike of fear. He glanced around rapidly, eyes catching the torches lighting up the cobblestone room with every flicker. There were no windows, _nothing_ suggesting he was going to enjoy his stay and a single door across from him. It was large, wooden, and blessed Melitele he could swear he saw thousands of hand scratches lining the frame. " _Oh, gods..._ " He breathed out, jerking against the ones holding him still as someone came through the wooden door in front of him.

A tall man, suited in a tight black cloak walked to a stop in front of him, nodding once at the guards at Jaskier's sides. 

Immediately, Jaskier was pushed down into a forced bow. He tried to stifle his shaky breathing, not wanting to reveal how absolutely and completely fucked he was.

"I suppose you're wondering why you're here." He heard the calm voice of the man in front of him, being able to see nothing but the boots within his line of sight. "It has come to our attention that the Witcher we seek has gone into hiding and with him is the one thing we have been ordered to retrieve. Your White Wolf, the so-called in your blasphemous ballads, has stolen something which belongs to us." A gloved hand gripped Jaskier's jaw and pulled his gaze up, tossing it aside when he remained silent.

Another nod and Jaskier was up again, planted firmly on his feet. A sharp inhale reminded him of his ankle, still very much injured and filled with needles. Considering his situation, something inside Jaskier felt this would be the least of his worries. 

"You're here to assist Nilfgaard, an honor not easily bestowed." The man raised an eyebrow, glancing down to the ground with a growing smile.

What Jaskier wouldn't do to whack the smile from his face and flee.

"But enough of that," The cloaked man waved a hand, leaving Jaskier to stand on wary feet as the guards released him. "I want you to tell me everything you know about the Geralt of Rivia. Any information regarding his whereabouts may be enough to convince my captain for your release." Jaskier attempted to stand tall, suddenly aware of the metal clasp holding his arms behind him. No more rope then, He turned his head back, catching a glimpse of the chain securing him to the wall. A charged force stuck him in the jaw, sending him onto his knees _hard_. 

"You're to look at the mage when he speaks to you." A grunt from above him rang through Jaskier's ears as he curled up, coughing through new pain webbing through his skull. A mage? Jaskier raised his eyes, licking his torn lip in confusion. Why is there a mage with him? What the hell did Geralt _do_ once they parted ways? Why the hell was he the one involved in this?

Sniffing sharply, Jaskier shook his head at the mage. "Sorry for the confusion, but I can't help you." He did his best to move his hands as silently as he could, testing the metal. "I've stopped following Geralt for many months now, in fact, one could say we've been avoiding each other. I don't know anything anymore." He lowered his voice, thinking of his past travels. He had tried to ignore the tie passing without regrouping with his friend, but he'd always found something come up in his memory that just brought it back. He flinched at the sudden movement of one of the soldiers and expected the next hit, only peeking through an eye when it never came. He watched as the mage's hand, wrapped over the guard's own, lowered slowly. _Perhaps they finally had a change of heart?_

"Let's try this again," The mage coldly snapped a finger, remaining still as the guards wrangled Jaskier into a tight grip. "My name is Vyecher. I have been asked by my captain to keep you alive until certain...conditions are correct and any information gathered during this time can be beneficial." He kneeled before Jaskier, ignoring the bard's struggles as he wrapped a hand around his ankle. He could feel the tension radiating as Jaskier stifled a gasp at his sprain being tugged. Vyecher sighed, before passing a glowing hand over the foot.

Suddenly the pain vanished, leaving only a wake of confusion as Jaskier watched the mage step back a little too calmly. He didn't know how to react as the guards released him, even if they still remained by his side. 

"Where is the Witcher hiding the Princess?" Vyecher repeated, never taking away his gaze.

"What Princess?" Jaskier glanced at the guards, still standing on alert. He watched as Vyecher's eye twitched with a frown, watched as he brought up his hand, snapped, and suddenly Jaskier was face-first on the ground, leg pulsing from the strain of standing too long. His ankle was screaming at him again, and he would have stayed down had the guards not picked him up by his shoulders again. 

Vyecher leaned in, picking Jaskier's gaze up to his own with a single finger under his chin. "I'm very adept at masking injuries, maybe even healing wounds if I've a good mood. I'm asking again. Where has Geralt taken the Princess?"

"Look, I don't know what the hell you're-"

Something hit him across the skull and he saw stars, barely registering the floor beneath him before he was lifted once more. Something wet was dripping down his temple, and he felt as though the floor was swimming beneath him. A cool chill passed through him and his eyesight corrected itself, bringing him back to face the mage. "Please, I don't know what-"

More pain.

Another round of chill going down his spine and he registered the blood seeping into his collar. But his head was buzzing from the after-effects of the spell, wound now closed.

"I've been successful many times in my career, little lark. And I can make this _much_ worse." Vyecher cleared his throat and Jaskier found himself grappled, arms in an uncomfortable position and arm around his neck. As one of the other guards walked in front, he could see the blunt and bloodied wooden club they'd been striking him with. Vyecher inspected his hand, almost in a tiresome fashion as he continued. "The Witcher had last been seen with Princess Cirilla Fiona Elen Riannon of the _former_ Kingdom of Cintra. My Captain is currently in the dirt spot of a town you'd left, though perhaps within the next few hours we will hear of negotiations being complete and we can continue with our lives before we'd met." Vyecher calmly smiled, leaning forward once more. "And yet, if you give us the information, on the chance you really _have been abandoned_ by your Witcher, then we can cut to the chase and release you to flit about as you please. Do you know why the Witcher would steal away our prize?"

Jaskier shook his head, still processing his situation. Blatantly ignoring the whole 'Your Witcher' thing, by all accounts, he'd been dragged into more trouble. Geralt was a wanted man, hiding a _child_ of all things. Why would Geralt even _consider_ -

Oh.

_Oh._

Right, the ceremony. The favor he'd asked of Geralt. To accompany and guard him against the lords in Cintra where Geralt had declared the Law of Surprise. His _Child of Surprise._ _Of course he would take the princess._ He'd repeated so many times that he never cared for anything but himself, but he knew that was complete and utter bullshit. Despite the image Geralt was so desperate to uphold for whatever reason, Geralt _would_ return and rescue a child from the war. And now, he was being hunted for it. Jaskier looked up at Vyecher with wide eyes, dawning realization hitting him as he realized he could be the final bridge to protecting their whereabouts. Because there was no way in _hell_ Geralt would come for him, not after their last confrontation, and knowing everything he did about him he was probably the best at hiding from the public if he _really_ wanted to. If all went according to Geralt's plan, he and this princess, _this Child Surprise,_ could wait out the hunt with the security that they'd never be found. 

Jaskier could be this last bridge to Geralt and the public. And if it came down to it, Jaskier would rather burn that bridge than allow an enemy to cross it.

"I've nothing to say, and most definitely nothing to hide." Jaskier spoke slowly, eyes trailing the patterns of the stone before finding the courage to grin back at the mage. "So, if you could just let me go...I'll just think of this as a simple misunderstanding." He wriggled in the men's grasp, empty laugh only shaking as it ended.

Vyecher narrowed his eyes, smile melting into a growl.

"Break it."

The wooden club made contact with his leg, leaving him screaming into the clothed elbow of one of the guards as he struggled. Each hit was worse than the last, escalating in hot pain until something clicked. He was being muffled by one of the guard's arms. One of the guards who just so happened to _not_ be wearing anything to _protect_ said arm. He bit fiercely into the fabric just as he felt something in his leg snap, using the white shards shooting up his thighs to force his teeth in deeper. Within seconds he could taste a familiar metal on through his teeth, screwing his eyes shut at the chaos to come. He hung on tightly, ignoring the sudden shrieking in his ears as the guard fought to free himself with frantic jerks. If they were going to do this, he was _damn well_ sure it wouldn't be just his blood in the room. A hard impact against his temple sent him sprawling, gasping as he hit the ground and he spit out as much of the blood as he could. The taste was beginning to be nauseating.

" _Little bastard bit me!"_ " One of the men clung to his arm, disbelief radiating off of him as Jaskier felt a bit of pride peek out from behind his staggering breaths. "He fucking _bit_ me!"

Vyecher scoffed, waving a hand and the guard's arm was wrapped in a pale glow before fading. He watched as Jaskier laid in front of him, muttering nonsense to himself as his leg bled freely. It was... _interesting_. He hadn't expected the bard to have this power of will, let alone attempt to fight back. _This would be very interesting_. The corner of his mouth quirked upwards for a moment, gone within seconds as he called the lights onto Jaskier's bent leg. "Caen, you may continue." He'd only healed it enough to bind the wounds shut, not sparing any extra to ensure a dull pain. It would take a few moments to fade as the body came to terms with the healing. "I'm going to rest for a moment. I would suggest you do the same, Mohren. "

The one Jaskier bit nodded, turning with a swift kick to Jaskier's ribs before following Vyecher out the door.

Now alone with the last guard, Jaskier did his best to sit up. Lips still stained red and now matching the color on the side of his pants, he watched as the man, Caen apparently, twirl the wooden club. He did his best to glare at the man as Caen shifted his arm back, readying his next swing. The blood hadn't even had the chance to dry before the next round had begun.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Me: hmm i dont think ima write rn, *closes drafts*  
> Me: *getting email notifs about new comments*  
> Me:...ALRIGHT TIME TO GO AGAIN


	6. A Gentle Push

Geralt tossed the sack of severed heads by one of the support beams surrounding the makeshift kitchen, heading straight for the chest in the deepest corner that contained most of his things. He'd need extra potions should things go south, supplies for the time it would take to reach the name of the town the villager had yelled out as he walked away. He'd heard of the name in passing, enough to get started in the right direction. Some food for roach, who'd taken to the fresh apples they'd managed to grow from one of the nearby trees. He had already begun preparing her saddle by the mouth of the cave when he'd heard movement behind him.

A thin hand reached across and laid on his upper arm. "I take it something happened while collecting? Unless drowner's suddenly put you in some sort of mood." 

The witcher turned partially, hands still tightening the straps to secure Roach's saddle. "Jaskier was taken."

Yennefer paused for a moment, brows furrowed. " _Jaskier?_ The bard you'd scorned the last time we'd travelled for the dragon?" She rolled her eyes at the glare sent her way, crossing her arms as she spoke. "Don't give me that look. We've already talked over what happened and we both know it was an argument _you_ started." She ran a hand through her hair, looking back into the cave. Her eyes fell on the hidden door near the back, where Ciri was most likely still reading the page on levitation magic. Geralt already packing meant only one thing and it was one thing she hated. "Surely you must understand that this is a trap? _Honestly_ , Geralt I feel that you like to be in scenarios that could end in your death!"

Roach huffed loudly, shaking her head as Geralt fed her an apple. She'd need the energy for the road. "That's why I'm asking you to stay here." He combed a hand through Roach's mane, using the other to lightly push Yennefer towards the cave. His hand hadn't left her shoulder, holding her at a distance. " _Where it's safe_."

Yen brushed his hand off, stepping closer as her voice raised another octave. "And what if they don't even _have_ the bard? What if they made it up to be able to lock you up in a dirty cell somewhere, ready to bleed you dry to find out where you'd gone into hiding?" She was directly under him now, purple eyes staring fiercely at Geralt's golden ones. "They could take her too." Her fire met a cool gaze as he sighed, Geralt's hand placed firmly on her shoulders in reassurance.

"They won't." He'd had time to mutter the small phrase before lifting his head, hearing the footsteps within the cave grow. Yen walked back inside, passing Ciri as she came out into the afternoon light.

"What's happening?" She glanced back as Yen remained by one of the tables inside, arms in front of her as she leaned over it in silence. Ciri made a face as she turned to see Geralt's mouth open slightly, crossing her arms as if mimicking Yen's earlier actions. " Don't lie, I heard most of the yelling from inside."

Geralt huffed with a slight smile, closing his eyes at her remarks. She was never one to hold her tongue once she had grown accustomed to the two of them. That would most definitely lead to some interesting sarcasm as she grew, he could tell. He hummed quietly to himself as he watched Yen begin to pace in the background. "Someone I know has been captured by the men who'd been chasing you." He watched as her face fell, worry ebbing her blue eyes. "You remember Nilfgaard?" A small nod, clutched hands at her arms tugging on her sleeves letting him know she still wasn't comfortable with that conversation. Geralt lowered himself to her eye level, hoping to bring some sort of reassurance as he spoke. "You haven't met him, but we had travelled together before all of this. Jaskier is the one who wrote most of the songs you heard when we passed through the towns." Ciri let her arms fall slowly, tilting her head as she gathered more information. He could nearly see the intrigue radiating off of her.

"Oh. He's a bard?" Ciri remarked, bringing up a small hand to her chin. She was quiet for a moment, gaze lowered as she thought before meeting Geralt's eyes again. "And you're going to rescue him." 

It wasn't a question, he noted. He simply nodded in return, bringing his hands to clasp in front of him before standing again. "It might bring danger, the two of you could be discovered if I'm not careful." Ciri remained silent again for a few seconds, obviously doing some mental planning of her own.

"Is he your friend?"

Geralt froze momentarily, his hand drifting up to scratch at his chin. If you had asked him earlier in his life about his friendships, he'd say they were non-existent. Something that would never come to reality for him. _And yet now..._ He sighed, pinching the bridge of his nose as he recalled that day on the mountainside. The quarrelling with Yennefer and then snapping at Jaskier like a cornered animal a minute after. It was luck that gave him the chance to apologize to Yen when they'd discovered each other again. No such luck in finding the other. "I said a few things out of frustration the last time we had seen each other. I..." He let his hand fall, voice drifting as he thought. " _They weren't good things_." He caught Ciri's disapproving eye, letting his arms wrap in front of him without thinking. "I doubt he'd think of me as a friend."

Ciri frowned, pulling Geralt's improvised barrier down."That wasn't what I asked." She watched him carefully, catching the near-silent hum when she piped up again. " _Is he your friend?_ "

A second passed, interrupted by a small breeze. "Yes."

She nodded once, determined look staying on her face as she handed him the reins. "Then you'll rescue him." Roach, the blessed horse, made a small grunt that almost sounded like a form of agreement. Geralt slowly pulled the straps from her hands, practically accepting it as permission to risk their security. That perhaps it was time to cross a bridge in order to help the one person still waiting, despite the threats. "That's what friends _do_."

He held the reins tight in his grip as he climbed on top of Roach, patting her gently as he began tugging her in the direction of the nearest road. Seeing how most of the area was covered in hillsides, he wouldn't want to tire her out too early into the journey. "Geralt, wait!" He stopped Roach, both of them turning as Yennefer hurried outside. She was clutching something tightly in her hands and held it against his thigh. "Take this," Yennefer explained as Geralt inspected the small bottle's contents. It looked as though she'd poured ash into the glass and yet the distinct metallic scent told him otherwise. "It's a compact spell. If you get captured, _gods forbid_ , toss the powder to the ground." He pocketed it in a small pocket by his hip, typically used for an easy to reach potion. "It's harmless on its own, like dust. But _when_ you're in trouble, say the word 'Wolfsbane' and it will create a portal that will hold long enough to bring you here." Yen held up a hand, quick reaction just in time to stop Geralt's words in his tracks. " _I know_ , I've heard you wail about your hatred of portals enough times to fill one of my books. _Just_ -" She huffed, letting her hand fall from his thigh to rest by her own. " _Please_. And you know I won't say that often so be thankful." She raised an eyebrow, though her expression made sure there was no venom in her words.

Geralt nodded slowly with a hint of a smile. "Alright, thank you Yen." He lightly tugged on Roach's reins, grunting a command as she began galloping down the hillside, weaving through the autumn colored trees. If he planned this right, he could make it to Wynhap sometime tonight. It may be rough on Roach, but she can rest while he deals with the Nilfgaardian Captain. Something in him guessed there would be little time for words, anyhow. Especially considering what he has to lose. He couldn't lose.

* * *

The road was empty, save for a few deer that burst through the trees at the sound of his hooves beating down the path. For once, Geralt wished for there to be no monsters out to challenge him. Any other time he'd welcome the thrill of it, thinking of it as exercise and a way to practice his skills for the next battle. However, now it was only a nuisance that he'd rather not begin. Roach would slow momentarily as they passed the first town as if asking if they needed to stop for the night, before continuing her pace through the darkened paths. He spared a passing glance as they'd sped by one of the town markers, using his cat's eyes to read it quick enough to turn west at the fork. "Almost there Roach, easy." He did his best to support the horse from his saddle, stroking her neck as he began spotting distant firelights of the more than likely sleeping town.

He tugged Roach to a slow canter, eyes scanning for anything resembling an inn. Spotting the stables in the distance, he urged Roach forward. Taking a second to secure her within the stables, he made note of its vacancies, no horses and no stableboy either. Judging by the angle of the moon it was well past midnight, which he supposed explained the lack of keeper. _But wouldn't an inn at least have some horses if travellers were sleeping inside?_ He crept silently along the shadows of the inn, making his way to a small window on the leftmost side. Closing his eyes by the window's frame, he focused his hearing on the rapid whispers inside.

His witcher senses could detect a mouse in a lively forest if needed, a whisper in a silent town was nothing. 

"I've already passed on your message, the Witcher's coming. Please, just let my father go!" A frantic voice called from somewhere within the room. He recognized the sound as the man that went to search for him. _Dorian._ A sound of something hitting flesh met his ears and he heard a loud thump, a clatter of things hitting the ground. _Perhaps a body colliding with furniture._ Sound of footsteps over creaking wood, slow and meticulous. "Your father will remain under our security until the Witcher makes his appearance. Until then, you should be thankful we haven't impaled him on the sticks you built this _retched_ place with." A low voice, slightly nasally, strolled passed the window Geralt had crouched under. It went deeper into the room, before calling out once more. "Toss him with the horses, I'd prefer silence over his constant protests."

Geralt sighed, ears picking up the distinct sound of shuffling feet making their way to the entrance. He could pick up several heartbeats, some blood but not enough to think of mortal wounds, and the hushed tones of guards inside. But no sound of Jaskier's complaints, nor strumming of strings. _But..._ He thought, relieved as he readied himself for the guards heading his way. _No scent of his blood either._

The door in front of him opened and he neatly grabbed onto Dorian's arm as he was shoved out, saving him from a face full of dirt and mud. He caught the eyes of one of the guards, remaining silent as the man finally seemed to grab hold of his words. "It's the Witcher!" 

Geralt helped steady Dorian before releasing him, watching the man wipe the blood from his nose with his sleeve. "Didn't think you'd make it here this quick, White Wolf...uh, sir." Geralt raised an eyebrow in curiosity, before turning back to the clambering knights beginning to file out from the building. He spotted the leader, easy to identify due to the pristine armor and flowing cape. _Like a peacock,_ He mused, hearing Dorian begin to fall back behind him. The leader raised a hand, causing the Nilfgaards to lower their weapons. "Rude to intrude on a man when he's sleeping, but I realize manners were never a Witcher's speciality."

A sharpened gaze. "We deal with monsters, whether or not they are _conscious_ doesn't matter." Geralt said roughly, voice low as he scanned the guards. Most had swords, one had a mace, the last one by the door had a crossbow. He could see arrow knocked, ready for fire. If needed, he could block the shot, deal with others while the soldier reloaded. Judging by the shake of bowman's hands, he'd be granted a minute or two before the next shot. "I hear you're asking for me, yet I can't recall your name. Seems I'm not the _only_ one who's forgotten manners." His gaze slid back to the leader, holding steady against the man's angered face.

"You may refer to me as First Captain Bougard Du'Lyon of the Haren Division." The Captain stretched his grimace as he grinned, a grim sight, and let a hand fall to his sword.

"I'm not going to do that." Geralt scoffed, getting into his stance, ready to draw his swords when needed. "I'm here for the bard. Or were you also forgetting dishonesty as a lack of manners?"

Captain Bougard frowned again, stepping to the side as one of the guards disappeared into the inn. "The only thing living within these walls is the one who _betrayed_ your bard, Witcher. We knew better than to hold our cards in the same hands to greet you." He heard a growing commotion inside the inn. A larger, older man gagged and dressed in clothes lightly stained with red was pushed onto the ground at the front steps. His nose, clearly broken appeared to be the source of the blood, while the rest of the smell he linked to the soiled pants. "And I may be willing to release the bard if we come to an agreement. The bard for the girl... _or your life_." Captain Bougard waved a hand, and weapons were pointed in Geralt's direction. It left little room between the two and less patience within him.

"Hmm." Geralt hummed, glancing around the men again. 3 of the soldiers had shifted, revealing the spots where their armor was lacking. The mace wielding Nilfgaard was too close to bring his weapon to a full swing, meaning he could deal with him last if Geralt sent a body to collide with him. It was cutting it close, but he could manage. He brought his arm up, hands forming a familiar motion as a short burst of magic wrapped over him. Better safe than lose a limb. "There is a _third option_." He drew his steel sword, watching as a shot arrow collided with a glowing barrier within an inch of his skull.

The first 3 soldiers charged, following the shouted orders of their Captain. Geralt stepped back into the space Dorian once was, who was now using his energy to run into the stables and out of the combat. With a quick turn of his heels, he was able to parry one of the swords, using the momentum to knock him back into the one with the mace. They'd tumbled and hit the ground as Geralt ducked over a wide sing of metal, twisting his wrist to sneak his sword just under the soldier's chest piece. He felt the blood run freely down his hand, slipping it back out from the ribs as he rose to block another attack. A jerked head movement allowed him to hear the second arrow whistle past his ear as he rendered the next to men to their bloodied knees, the arrow leaving nothing but a red line by his cheek.

"It's one man, you incompetent fools!" Captain Bougard yelled from the steps, holding Dorian's father to him like a shield. 

"No, it's not! It's a _Wit_ -" A bloodied head came rolling from the fight, stopping neatly before the Captain's feet. feet. Bougard lept back, clutching Dorian's father as a sword show through the air and pierced the man's throat next to him. The crossbow clattered to the ground, hands now holding with waning strength at the metal now impaling him to the inn's door. Bougard looked back to see Geralt standing amongst the gore, blood splattered on him a stark contrast against the white of his hair. He remained silent, picking up his sword from a corpse's shoulder as he stalked towards the Captain. " _Enough!_ You shall _submit_!" Bougard shoved his body shield forward, cursing as Geralt sidestepped around the stumbling man. He drew his sword, rearing his arms back to strike as Geralt clashed his sword, launching the Captain's weapon across the yard. " _I, ah._..I still have the knowledge of where your bard is, Witcher!" Bougard winced as Geralt began pressing his sword into his shoulder, slowly pushing deeper. He could no longer feel his fingers. "They're expecting an update come sunrise, if they don't receive one-"

"Tell me where he is and I may let you live." Geralt snarled, driving his sword in with another breath. His grip was solid, adrenaline from the fight still fresh in his bones. The head in front of him nodded rapidly, eyes shut from the pain. _Fine._ He'd already wasted enough time, the sun would rise in a few hours. If what he said was true, it meant more trouble. "You'll take me then." He withdrew his sword, pulling out quickly. He glanced back at Dorian, now kneeling beside his father and inspecting his wounds. It was stupid of him to even turn his head, a novice mistake. A glance at Dorian's widening eyes and a crush of dirt behind him caused him to turn with his sword raised and tense. 

The dagger stopped inches from his eye, Captain's arm shaking as he inhaled a trembling gasp.

Geralt pulled his sword back, watching as the Captain fell over with glazed eyes and a haunted expression. " _Fuck_." He just severed the one lead he had left. Now he was in the middle of a bloodbath and without directions. By all accounts, he'd effectively sent Jaskier to his death. 

"If you're looking for the bard, I know where they took the shit." Geralt turned back to the newly freed father. Dorian was helping him to his feet, gently picking at the wounded nose. "Dorian, leave me be!" The man yelled in frustration, smacking the hand away. He wiped his mouth with his sleeve, smearing the red. "I heard the men talking of the Baron's keep. An abandoned place, left to ruin some time ago."

Geralt sheathed his sword, watching the frustrated man with a careful eye. "How do I get there?"

"Take the path behind my inn, follow it 'til you reach the mossy stump then head to the north. Hard to miss, 'specially with your eyes. _Listen up_ ," The man sauntered over, ignoring the limbs in the dirt. "You'd be better off without that _jackass_. Been nothing but trouble and he ain't worth it. If he hadn't shown up, my boy wouldn't've been swindled out of his pants and I'd be uninjured." Dorian shook his head, grabbing his father's arm as if to stop his feely running mouth. "I said to keep _off, Dorian!_ " The man shoved at his son, pointing a fat finger at Geralt. His face was now reddened from the anger, sweat reeking off his body. "You best leave that rat bastard to _rot_ in his cell-"

The man collapsed, clutching at his soon to be bruised cheek as Geralt walked to the stables.

His gloved hand now had a stain of the disgusting man's blood on the knuckles. Without a word, He untied Roach's lead and began leading behind the inn to follow the path. If not for the leather covering his hands, he'd be able to see the white of his knuckles with the amount of strength in his grip. He'd be out of the town and down the path before the man would get on his feet again. Just as he was about to reach the path, he spotted something familiar lying by emptied barrels. A _lute_ , now lightly dusted in dirt after being left out all day in a busy town. Taking it into his arms, he lightly swiped away at some of the dirt. You could still see the shine in the golden lines on the wood, easily detecting the care taken for the instrument despite its location. Geralt sighed and proceeded to sling it over his back, nestled by his swords and he jumped onto Roach. The dust cloud left in their stead fell quietly onto the path as they disappeared into the forest once more.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> yall idk if you listen to music while reading like i do but A Song for Bob is literally so good omg


	7. A Worthy Companion

When Jaskier awoke, he found his eyes groggily focused on the light flickering off the stone above him. His body was outstandingly sore, loudly groaning in protest as he turned his head to find a silent guard posted by the door. It wasn't one of the two men, Caen or whatever the other one was. Actually, he wasn't particularly sure if it was or not, given the helmet, the man was wearing. He also had arm guards. _Guess they learned their lesson_ , he winced as a dull headache made itself known behind his eyes for a few seconds. It disappeared after a moment, leaving him to breathe quietly while he laid on his back.

If you would ask him when he lost consciousness the last time, he could probably make up an answer. Maybe even make it sound like a hero, laughing triumphantly in the face of misery with each blow. But the truth was, he can't remember _anything_ past the third hit. And he had cried. Probably pissed in his pants after he passed out, but the wet he currently felt in his pants was probably drying blood. Probably _. "Ysgarthiad."_ He whispered to himself, not trusting the common tongue in case he went delirious at some point. Better to speak in a language someone might not know then one everyone does. Chances are the neanderthal standing in for a statue by the door wouldn't understand him anyway. He probably just thought Jaskier had finally lost it.

"So, you speak elder."

Jaskier let his eyes close with a disappointed sigh. Another card in his deck lost. " _Great_ , yeah really great. 'Course you know Elder, why would you _not_." He pulled himself up to a sitting position, now realizing the chain he'd had restricting his arms behind him was now connected to a hook on the ground. He could bend his arms in front of him, grateful for the relief it could bring his shoulders at least. "I don't suppose I'm allowed a dinner, am I?" He sat in a dejected crosslegged position, carefully inspecting himself and finding no wounds. _I guess magic really can do that.... huh._ He glanced back up at the soldier, feeling a rumble in his stomach. He guessed it had been another night, finding the hunger similar to one of his travels before. It hadn't been the first time he'd gone hungry, so at least that wasn't as bad as it could have been.

The soldier at the door said nothing, stoic and soundless.

"If I was going to die here, I wouldn't have guessed it'd be from starvation. Exsanguination _most definitely_ , but knowing that I could have lived with a little bread in my stomach is a little concerning." Jaskier sighed, preferring to keep his mouth moving then to remain in his thoughts. It was easy. He moved his ankle, remembering the jolt of agony from his muscle twisting from thin air with an empty feeling in his heart. "I'm surprised I'm even still breathing, honestly. Do you not want me dead? Because this whole, beating me to the brink of demise and then hauling me back to consciousness if giving me _very mixed signals._ " He sighed, playing with his fingers after a moment of empty noise. Maybe he could annoy his guard into letting him go.

After all, he's typically always been shitty at doing what he's told. A shitty companion too. He was probably just shitty in general. Maybe he could market that as a new skill.

"You know, as much as I love the way you just stand there and menacingly stay quiet, I'd at least like some sort of noise to know I'm not alone in this conversation." He began rambling, finding the words slipping through quite easily as he gestured with bound hands. "It's not very kind to leave someone just in the middle of a rant and _at the very least_ you could act as you can hear me. You did it once, I'm sure if you put your mind to it, you can do it again." Jaskier glanced down and saw the beginning tremor in his fingertips, frowning as he brought his gaze back up.

"Luckily for us both, I'm quite adept at maintaining a conversation. Of course, my mother once told me it was because I had enough words for multiple bodies in a single soul. Never did understand that much, I think it was a load of horsecrap." He winced, headache from earlier springing into the base of his neck in a passing wave. It was becoming more noticeable, like a growing tumor. "Then again, maybe I'm just _used_ to talking to myself. And let me tell you, keeping up conversations with nothing but grunts of reciprocation has done nothing for my growing vocabulary. I mean, honestly, how many times would ' _Hmm_ ' go into a tune before I'd just sound like I'm humming? Geralt may not have seen the issue with that, but unlike _me_ he never seemed to think to deeply into my words of prose and melody." He wiped the sweat from his forehead, leaving his knuckles to block the low of the torches. 

The pricking behind his eyes was getting to be too much.

"He was definitely _not_ the most communicative man, not by a long shot. You know, _I_ was the one would manage to get the best price for the rooms we'd stay in, whenever we'd be on the same path. It's not like I was _following_ him, I just so happened to bump into him and tag along and if it happened more often than not, then it was a coincidence. That's all. I needed more information if I was to make a better song performance, _okay?_ Like after the dragon, as much as it had _hurt_ -" Jaskier gasped in a breath, attempting to muffle his words with clammy hands. There was too much passing through his mind, too much bubbling up with every pulse at his spine. It was as if someone tossed in more firewood to the sparks in his mind.

He bit onto his knuckles hard enough to draw blood, groaning behind closed teeth and lips as he attempted to ride out whatever was happening. Something was happening. Something was wrong. His tense body relaxed after a moment, loosening from its frozen stance to leave him sagging forward in exhaustion. He heard the door creak open, watching as Vyecher walked in with glowing light dying around his fingertips. That explained the fading ache in his skull, at least.

"Well. I suppose we both have tricks up our sleeves, don't we?" He remarked with a grin, clasping his hands behind his back as Jaskier sucked in wheezing breaths. Whispering something to the man at the door, he turned his attention back to the bard. "Strange feeling isn't it? Like someone smashing a dam open through your skull. Though I'm surprised you could fight it. The human body can only take so much of the toxicity of magic, _Beag Taedh_." Vyecher knelt in front of Jaskier, drawing up his bloody chin with a cold hand. His elder sounded rough, like the grating screech of rusty metal to Jaskier's ears. It did the language no justice.

Jaskier snapped forward, bite just grazing the mage's hand as he jerked back. A burst of energy blessing him with just enough to scramble to his feet, leaping forward with a grunt; the chain had only stopped him inches from Vyecher's stance. " _Te caen me A'baeth aep arse._ " The elder flowed off his tongue, laced with anger and frustration at the thought that he'd nearly mentioned the argument that would have revealed important details. It was too close, he had to be more careful. He had to do _better,_ finally be worthy of someone that had walked alongside a Witcher for so many adventures.

Vyecher laughed, his amused grin stretching with each sound. He paid no mind to the door behind him as three guards walked in, each carrying daggers. One of which looked familiar, with its intricate vine engraving standing out to Jaskier even within the dim light. _Oh, good._ He thought, spotting his dagger in the hands of the Nilfgaard about to attack. _At least I haven't lost it._

" _Ess've vort shaente aen vatt'ghern,_ " Vyecher hummed, eyeing Jaskier with a look of apathy as the bard began stepping backwards in an attempt to get more distance between the advancing guards. His chains had rattled, fastening him to his prison when he tried to get too far. The first strike sent blood splatter on the walls, but the only thing leaving the victim was the sounds of struggle as he tried to escape. When fighting back didn't work, he'd tried pleading. When they fell on deaf ears, he'd been left to simply scream himself raw until he'd been knocked down.

* * *

  
Hoarse, ragged breath was the only thing he found the strength to do as he hit the ground. It had been several hours of this, this endless cycle of breaking and reforming. Stifling a whimper, Jaskier placed shaky bound hands in front of him, pushing with empty hope as he tried to sit up in his cell. He could feel the gashes on his sides weep with the movement. He'd soon bleed out onto the stone floors, considering the large slice to his back, and _yet_. He shuddered, mind and thoughts swirling like hot water as he felt something crawl over him again. It was warm and cold, hitting him like waves of disgusting relief as his wounds closed again. Despite having no outward injuries anymore, there was this painful tingle trembling over his skin like white pinpricks of ice, and he shot a tired glare back to Vyecher when the sudden shadow on the door brought gave him a momentary distraction.

He strained his hearing to reach the whispered conversation as the torture stopped, desperate for any information he could. He'd only caught the end of the sentence, a short "Still no response." before Vyecher nodded and sent the man back into the hall. It was better than nothing, he supposed. Dismissing the guards, Vyecher stepped around Jaskier with false patience. He never stepped into the radius that the chain attaching him to the floor would give. Mainly because if he stepped within an inch of it Jaskier would do his best to give him a kick. Which was becoming more of a weak flail after the several hours he'd been chained in this room. It made a little over a day and a half if you excluded the time it took to bring him here from the town, otherwise, it was approaching his third day of fun. Vyecher broke into his thoughts, clearly realizing his mind wandering through muddled thoughts. "You've impressed me, larker. I never imagined you could last this long."

Jaskier laughed bitterly, taking a moment to spit the blood pooled around his tongue to his left side. "Funny, your _mother_ told me the same thing." The chill travelled up his spine soon as the words left his lips, regretting it instantly, and he nearly collapsed again as the wound on his thigh reopened slowly.

"I'm running out of patience _bard_ , it is time for you to stop toying with me." Vyecher snarled, twisting the sign of his hands into a clawed fist. The man in front of him fell back with a scream, cuffed arms clawing at the stone beneath him as whipped flesh began to tear down his back. "You and I both know you have information, the sooner you reveal it the sooner this misery will _end."_

Jaskier cleared his throat, scrunching his eyes shut to focus on the words rather than the old wounds resurfacing. He glanced at the mage with a single eye, wheezing with each breath. "Alright, information. Of course, yeah." He nodded feebly, noting the interest spiking in Vyecher's gaze. _Oh, he had some information alright._

"Should...Should I start from the beginning?" He let his head fall back, struggling to sit up now that his back was screaming profanities through his skull. 

Vyecher leaned in close, face softening into a smile. "Of course, little lark."

"It all began..." He breathed in slowly, releasing a dramatic, shaky sigh. Like clockwork, his manacled hands waved about, as if weaving the tale in front of him. "A sir Julian Alfred Pankratz, son to a high nobleman and his dutiful wife, was born into this excruciatingly boring world. A world that had no purpose and even less entertainment. And then, _the first miracle of many_ , a lute was gifted-"

Vyecher snapped, concentration broken as Jaskier began his melodramatic speech. "What are you doing? This is not-" 

Jaskier huffed a weak laugh, "Of course, pardon my formalities. _Jaskier,_ renowned artist and _majestic_ lover-" His voice was cut out by an anguished scream, arms trembling in pain as another wound scratched its way down his shoulder. He inhaled sharply through gritted teeth, finding himself more angry than afraid now. He rightly pissed off, wanted nothing more to than to lose consciousness and forget about this entire scenario for at least a few minutes.

"You should be _grateful_ I don't end your meagre and unworthy life as we speak!" The mage roared, using both hands to heal and harm Jaskier in a symphony of chaos. "If it were up to my own will, I'd have you stripped of skin and _dragged_ across the fields until the horses tired!" Vyecher stomped up to Jaskier's writhing form, slapping away the poor excuse of grappling hands from his robes. It had been intriguing at first, the way the bard refused to break at being broken, belittled and mocked. It had been _interesting_ to see the fire in his eyes remain even when the color had left his skin. But now, oh now all Vyecher saw in the coy bastard was a cockroach that refused to _die_. "What will you gain from this, you _little shit?_ There's little hope of you ever leaving with air in your lungs if I don't receive another letter from the Captain ordering me to keep you alive. It's no wonder the Witcher tossed you aside, he's probably left you here to die and feeling blessed by Melitele at this very moment, bard."

Jaskier steeled his gaze, ignoring the lack of support his legs would give him if Vyecher happened to release his collar, and ignoring the feeling in the pit of his stomach from his words. It struck him deep, deep into the pit of his stomach that had congealed his doubts into stone. He could hardly feel his fingers anymore, knew it was only a matter of tie before he slipped unconscious again. "My name is _Jaskier._ " He snarked, feeling a dying heat in his cheeks as the glimmer of hope shrunk once more. His face snapped to the side, the hard slap bringing a deeper red to his skin. 

" _Silence_ , songbird!"

His eye twitched, and he twisted his bloodied hands into tightened fists. "Alright _fine_ , you want songs? I've got several!" And using as much air as his sore lungs would allow, he began belting out as many lyrics as he could, sparing no breath as Vyecher dropped the shouting man from his face. He wouldn't stop singing, voice ranging from high notes to stuttered lows as the wooden doors opened, letting in the usual guards.

He sang.

Sang about the Cintran ladies that held him close and the men that held him closer, with their fiery dispositions and sweet words . Sang about the trials that came with lying and stumbling through love songs as he neared unconsciousness. The forgotten tale of a stolen newlywed bride that had been turned into a bitter monster, hunting for her revenge in the pants of hungry men. Sang of the heroes that came to rescue those in need as he felt the blood drip from his temple to his chin. Sang his most favored tale, the one he'd kept close, the one of the White Wolf and his first _real_ adventure. 

Anytime he'd regained consciousness, the only thing to leave his lips between screams was poetic melodies and harsher curses. He'd sooner lose his voice than lose his spirit, much to Vyecher's frustration. If he suffered, he was going to make it as dramatic and inhumanly irritating as he could. What's a bard's life to a Witcher's survival anyhow?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Translations for you!:  
> *Ysgarthiad - Shit  
> *Beag Taedh - Little Bard  
> *Te caen me A'baeth aep arse - You can kiss my ass  
> *Ess've vort shaente aen vatt'ghern - Sing me the song about the Witcher  
> P.S Elder speech is really cool you guys! apparently they got a linguist to fully develop it for the show!  
> P.P.S (thats how you put it right?) All your comments make me so happy im really happy you like the story!!! :D


	8. Black Hills

He'd made it just outside the walls of the keep a little after before dawn, the sky slowly beginning to fill with light with each minute. He'd figured there'd at least be someone watching the cobblestone bridge leading to the brick building, but found security lacking. It didn't appear to be well guarded at all, considering there were no guards patrolling outside. Perhaps it was the time they switched to a new guard, a fresh set of eyes to keep watch. He'd slowly hopped off of Roach, leaving her behind a mass of trees and bushes to keep her hidden once the fighting starts. Geralt lightly patted the inner pocket that contained the glass bottle as he made his way, making sure it was secure before he began up the lonely road. It hummed with each beat of his heart.

His boots were crunching against the dirt, only stopping as he found a small corner beneath the main entrance to plan. _Still no sign of guards and no sound either,_ he paused, using the corner to block any line of sight. Taking out a small vial of reddened liquid, he breathed out slowly to prepare himself and drank it. A small twitch was the only outward effect, while inside him it was a _surge_ of energy as more of his senses became heightened. It was nothing unusual to him, but still unpleasant as he waited. The smell of moss over worn brick, a far off stream still running through the sleeping forest. His leather armor slightly chafing under the weight of his swords and his own slow and steadily beating heart. It took a moment for the enhancing to finally stabilize into something bearable to walk with and he lowered his gaze to the ground, letting his hearing take priority to gain more information.

He could hear distant heartbeats, some nearby and others deeper inside the keep. Their echoed steps meant stairways leading underground, if he had to guess. Geralt grimaced, the realization that he might have to search each level depending on how far down the walls went hit him. It would have to be necessary since he still couldn't detect any sign of Jaskier above ground.

Stealthily making his way across the bridge, Geralt watched with sharp precision for any sign of movement. He'd found none, save for a rat running from his approach as he made his way to the open arch. By all accounts, the keep could barely support anything inside. It was nearly completely demolished, a few standing walls and empty rooms betraying any notion of guards within. For a second, he'd thought with increasing anger that the Innkeep had lied to him. But his ear finally twitched as they caught the sound of approaching footsteps from hidden stairs, rusted gates to his right revealing way to a second lower level. He quickly slipped into dimming shadows, waiting beside the stairwell with his sword now drawn. The soldier descending was only allowed a single step onto the old brick before Geralt's hand covered his mouth, manoeuvring him against the wall and securing the sharpened steel to his throat.

"Tell me everything I want to know, " Geralt murmured, a hint of _Deja vu_ from his search in Cintra creeping through his voice as he spoke, "And I _might_ let you live another day."

The Nilfgaard stared at him with wide green eyes, hands pressed tightly against the wall behind him. More footsteps were approaching, he was running out of time. As he dropped his hand, sword still kissing the other man's throat, Geralt watched with growing frustration as he opened his mouth to yell. He did no such thing, blade slicing his windpipe neatly and leaving him a gurgling mess to drop out to the floor. The blood was now pooling to the base of the stairs and treading downwards. Right into the oncoming line of sight of the men coming his way. " _Fuck._ " Geralt grunted, raising his sword and storming to the torch-lit stairwell. No use in waiting, it'd just waste more time he might not have. Besides, he'd already picked up on the clamber of metal armor as the soldier's spotted his descending form.

The fight was nothing to him, swirling in a dance of steel and death.

He curled his arm behind him within seconds, metallic cry resonating through the walls as he caught an attempted back strike. He'd ducked, crouching into a quick leap as he spun around and managed to disarm another soldier. Quite _literally._ The soldier in question laid on the ground wailing and holding a bloodied stump where he'd once held a sword. Unfortunately, the act of doing so cause a level of noise ould enough to start alerting more men. He'd gotten another soldier lying on his back, arms raised in defence at the sword nearly impaling him where he laid. "Where is the _bard_?" He'd have another minute before the soldiers down the hall could see him. Maybe two if luck was on his side. Of course, if he _really_ wanted to, he could've used this time to simply kill the man and head for the shadows for his next attack. He could have the upper hand. But doing so would mean prolonged skirmish, and he _didn't_ want that.

"G-Glory to those under the golden suns, in the reign of the White Flame," The soldier's voice shook with determination, eyes moving past Geralt's sword and remaining on the ceiling as he began his chantings. "Let us _thrive_ in the wake-"

His voice cut out as the steel cut through him, leaving Geralt with nothing but infuriating silence. With a glance, he could see there were no other doors in this hall, save for the one where he could only assume led to stairs. As he made his way down the bloody corridor, he slowed upon meeting the eyes of more men. _"Where is he?"_ Geralt watched them coldly, smelling the sweat of their anxiety roll of them in waves as they tensed for his next move. They replied with silence, doing nothing to help his already heightened irritation. The crackle of the torches brought him to his senses and glancing at the flames flickering off the stone, that sparked an idea. 

He rolled his shoulder, nonchalantly raising a free hand to form a sign as he stalked towards them. He'd be done within the minute. The Aard blast sent a wind current fast enough to snuff out the torches, leaving the Nilfgaards in complete darkness and him in the perfect place to strike them down. It was quick work thanks to his potion from earlier, something he was glad for as he made his way further inside. There was no telling how long he'd need to fight if he'd hoped for a sign of hope. _A familiar heartbeat._

* * *

  
The body splattered onto the ground with a wet resounding smack.

Sword still drawn, weapon and leathers dripping from the fresh blood, Geralt stalked through the halls. It seemed no one would answer his question, and it was starting to get to him. _Excruciatingly_ so. Stepping over the number of bodies and limbs scattered on the ground, he'd made it down another level to try to listen for noise. He'd already gone down three flights of stairs, leaving nothing behind him but lost souls and pools of blood. Like a neverending cycle of murder. But he _still_ couldn't find Jaskier. Every room he'd checked, every corridor he'd passed was filled with the wrong heartbeats. Wrong voices, wrong smell, everything was wrong. He just needed to find the right clue to cling onto. Noise to his right.

_More bastards._

With a cry, the armored Nilfgaardians attempted to surround him with their swords drawn high. Too high, like the one in front would soon discover. With a swing and a sidestep, Geralt cut clean across the man's side. He was dead before his knees hit the ground, side torn open and blood spraying everything within the immediate vicinity. "Where is Jaskier?" Geralt let out a low growl, staying by the corpse, not bothering to step out from the puddle currently growing at his feet. He'd had enough caked on his boots to warp their color and the iron scent of blood was nothing but a revolting nuisance now.Cat's effect finally starting to fade now that the adrenaline was pushing more blood through his system. He might have to take another after this fight when he continued his search.

Still no response from anyone besides remarks about _'Fucking Witchers'_. Grunting in frustration, he lurched forward, clashing swords with another of the men. Their close distance made Geralt scan the man, confusion peeking out from his gaze. He faintly smelled like dandelions and _honey._ It was so faint, he'd missed it when he'd first saw him charging. There was only one person he knew that chose to buy those expensive soaps and it was _definitely not_ the armor clad man in front of him. While he was glad to finally have a clue, the fact that this scent was coming off the horrible, sweaty man made him worry.

That is, until he spotted something tied to the soldier's hilt.

A small dagger, one that had been purchased from a smith in Redania who stunk like day old ale. He'd given the dagger as a parting gift to Jaskier, as a silent apology after they spent several days staked out in the woods on a hunt. Jaskier, with no way of defending himself while Geralt scouted the aread, ended up breaking his lute to try to run from bandits that stumbled onto their camp. And while they did find someone Jaskier deemed capable enough of saving 'his sexy thing', Geralt new it was only going to happen again should he find more trouble. _Which he always did._ He never carried a weapon until then but promised he'd keep the dagger close. And each time they'd travelled together, he could hear the distinct metal clang against his lute when he walked. He'd kept his promise even up to today, it seemed.

The guard's form was weak and it was easy to steal the dagger from him, using his own sword to run him through. "Jaskier." Geralt raised his sword to the man's eye level, dagger hilt tight in his grip as he walked towards the last two men. " The owner of this dagger. Where is he?" 

The wounded man sneered, "You'll get nothing here, _Witcher._ Nothing but one last breath an' butchered limbs." He spoke with the confidence of a man who'd been alive long enough to survive past battles. His fallen comrade, wheezing in his armor and hand placed shakily over his bleeding chest piece, did not. He'd survive for another minute before falling if even that. "That bastard's as good as dead or wishing he was. He was a noisy little shit. Sobbed and cried like a _child_ with every slash from our blades." He and Geralt circled each other, mirroring the other's steps as they waited for a moment to strike. A slip of the foot from him led Geralt to take a step forward, ready to cut through the armor and

He picked up a distant voice.

A blade tore into his side, narrowly missing the angle that would lead to his innards leaving from his stomach and he hissed in pain at his retreat. Both bleeding but Geralt was the one who would walk away. Geralt stepped back, cupping his stomach with a glare as the older Nilfgaard grinned triumphantly. His mouth was moving, no doubt mocking his lack of awareness but his ears were locked onto a low melody coming from the hall to his left. One left in shadow and dust. He strained his ears, quickly sidestepping to cast a sign of Quen to protect his wounds, and finally caught the one thing he'd been searching through the bodies for. _A heartbeat._ A fast one. Much faster than he'd like, yes. But a _familiar_ heartbeat that he could latch onto and rush towards. He could hear the hoarseness of the tune, just barely catching the last note as Cat's effect finally left his system.

A renewed determination coursed through him like an icy current, energy directing him with a force at the Nilfgaard, who was now caught off guard at the sudden change of pace from the Wolf. Instead of his usual slow and steady strikes at his sword, this was _frenzied._ Like something from a trapped animal now released, snapping and baring fangs at the first sign of blood. He could barely keep up, stumbling back and grunting at each deepening slice at unprotected flesh. This was the Witcher he'd heard about. _The Butcher._ The one who stopped at nothing and spared no mercy for his enemy. The man fell, watching with dying light behind his eyes as the steel finally aimed for his neck, sending his head flying with a resounding slap against the stone.

Geralt stood there for a few seconds, breathing heavily and watching as the pool of blood grew beneath his last victim. It was the sense of growing pain in his side that caused him to wince into action. He started for the corridor he'd heard Jaskier's voice flitting down, staggering his steps as he pulled another potion to help with his wounds. It burned his throat as the magic did its work, travelling down his veins and sealing his wounds with hot fury. He paid no mind to any of this, slamming doors open as he rushed into each room. Locked doors were broken down with hand motion and sign, each cell dirtier than the last. Each _empty_ cell. He couldn't have imagined the voice, he _knew_ he was down here.

He could still hear his heartbeat in his ears.

He burst through another door, nearly missing the figure slumped against its knees in the corner. Letting out a tense breath, his nose picked up faded scents of blood with pained recognition. It was _reeking_ of metal in this room as it would smell in the bloodied halls upstairs. He could smell the torches that were now burned out, could smell the faded scent of charred skin. _Jaskier's skin_. Geralt walked towards the body, picking up the rapid pulse from his friend. " _Jaskier._ " He frowned when there was no response, and crouched in front of his bard and inspected him. There were no signs of injury anywhere on him, just torn fabrics of his clothing and bloodstains. _Strange_. Geralt cupped his face with furrowed brows, tilting his chin upwards to try to catch the blue eyes that were unfocused. "Jaskier, can you hear me?" _How long had he been in here? Was he too late now?_ He stared with bated breath until finally a spark of recognition reignited in Jaskier's eyes. It was like something inside him burst and all he could do was stare at him with relieved confusion. 

_"Geralt?"_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Happy Tuesday everyone!


	9. Extra: Destiny's Final Chapter

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Morning all! So i wont be home for a few days so please enjoy this thing i wrote at like 2 in the Morning yesterday!

Deep within the halls of the keep, a small voice echoed pausing only for breath. A tune nearly out of sync but still continuing on, driven by spite and near exhaustion. Jaskier's voice only faltered when overcame with sudden coughs, otherwise remaining as steady as he could manage. He found it easier to fall back into the rhythm, one that kept his words focused on the lyrics than to let his mind wander again, should Vyecher be preparing another speaking manipulation.

_"Fishmonger's daughter...b-baa, baa....."_

His voice was raw and hoarse, bouncing off the stone walls as Jaskier sat slumped against them. His exposed shoulder ached with every tremble that passed through him, firmly pressed against the cold stone to give his back much-needed relief. Although Vyecher had undone his branding in his last session, the memory of it left Jaskier with the repulsively _familiar_ feeling of freshly singed skin inside his left shoulder blade. Maybe Vyecher's magic did that too. _Arsewipe._

He was still shaking, hunched forward with knees drawn close to conserve what little warmth he had left. He hated the way he felt, dirty, throbbing, and weak. He knew he probably looked the part too, could feel the hair on his head matted with dried blood and when he'd tried to move his hands he knew there was something caked under his nails. At least, he thought he was moving his hands. He couldn't really feel much from his limbs anymore. Probably from the bloodloss. He spared a slow glance to his stained outfit, lingering on the dark and stiffened splotches in the fabrics. _Most likely from the bloodloss_. He'd lost track of time by the second bout of unconsciousness after his first few songs, accepting that this small cell may very well be his grave. He still continued wheezing out his melodies, forcing the words out to stay conscious. Maybe he could use this chance to write a new song, before his last breath. Just not about his current situation, he decided. Something full of heroics and heartbreak. Death and

"Destiny."

He raised tired eyelids to his left, attempting to focus on the door again. Vyecher hadn't returned yet, must still be resting to gain the power to hurt him again. It was the same routine the past few... days? It was impossible to tell anymore without a window in his cell. He defies the Nilfgaards, they try to break him, Vyecher _unbreaks_ him, he passes out. Rinse and repeat. Time and time again, despite him desperately wishing they'd _finally_ leave him to die. They wouldn't even give him that. It makes sense, there was no possible way, in all the great forces of the world that he would escape. Maybe this was all he was mean to do. Sing high praises of the Witcher till his death, so that his stories would live as long as the _White Wolf._ Perhaps even longer than that?   
  
Jaskier coughed wetly, exhaustion seeping through his skin as he opened his mouth once more to allow his melody to return.It was a slow process, words drawn out and almost wavering. If his voice cracked from the lack of moisture, pretend you didn't hear it. He'd been denied any form of comforts from the moment he was taken from the back alleys, so it's not as though he could reproduce a performance worthy of _royalty_. And if he was going to die, he'd at least like to do it doing something he truly loved. And since the _other_ thing he also loved to do was definitely impossible, being tied up in a prison tucked into some _horses arse_ and not in a town of unsatisfied, _welcoming_ spouses, he'd rather sing.

_"Hear me now, this stolen voice._

_Should a soul hope to discover my own, the one without choice."_

He coughed again, breathing ragged as he fell into another fit. His muscles were still sore from being torn and fused back together, however many times it was he'd lost track. He could still feel the sizzling energy over his skin from where magic warped itself over his wounds. He figured he'd still have another hour or two before someone came stomping into the room to finish their work, so he wasn't about to use it to try to move and let the tingling get worse. He doubted he'd even be able to last another round of their interrogations, let alone another _day_ considering the swirls of darkness lapping up at the edges of his vision. _Maybe destiny finally completed my chapter in its infinite story._ Jaskier took a moment to breathe, licking his lips as he tried to continue his song. He could barely feel the weight of his arms behind him, unsure of when they'd been moved from his chest. Maybe from when he'd passed out if he had to guess again. Fortunately for him, the feeling of burns on his back had finally gone too blurred to remember, so he wouldn't need to have the pain to focus on with each breath. 

_"Though this humble bard, nary a symbol of excellence_

_so did as he would dream, to live on_

_still yearning for recompense."_

He sighed, letting his head drift down once more. It was humiliating, to say the least. He'd lost his lute, his dagger, lost what little clothing he'd once had to cover his back and felt about as useful as a weed in a bouquet. And now to top it all off, lost his motivation to continue singing. _It hurt._ Everything hurt so much but every time he'd go to sleep he'd wake up to more pain. So he'd have to stay conscious as long as he could. Even if each breath brought more sharp aches then he thought he could ever _imagine_ outlasting.

_"For once you've heard this tale, flittering and cracking,_

_A heart once whole with adventures..._

_Now finding words are..._ lacking. _"_

He huffed a weak laugh, finding more comfort in humor in the lack of creativity. Well, not creativity. It was _him_ , after all, and creation was a gift from his very being. Just a lack of energy. _He was tired._ Sniffling again, he ignored the metal scent crusting his nose and glanced once more at the unchanging door. Still nothing. No change. Maybe they would finally allow him some very much well deserved alone time. Usually, he'd get another hit to the face for not shutting up his bloody mouth during these quiet times. Apparently, torturers need beauty sleep too. _Well, Sleep._ The metallic taste had dried over already, but he still found the hints of it rather nauseating. He wouldn't throw up again, as if he did there was no promise that he'd have the strength to move his legs out of the way. He was too sore and tired to even attempt and he didn't need another disgusting stench to fill his cell.

But he'd still kept his end of the deal.

Well, the end of the deal he'd made with himself anyway. And regardless of all that he'd been put through, he would _keep_ his end of the deal until his very last breath. He would _not_ betray the Wolf, _never_ betray Geralt come what may. And destiny would have to _kiss his ass_ if it thought otherwise. He was not about to give up. 

_"But still the White Wolf lives, hidden in shadow_

_and will continue his path, though you'll never know!"_  
  
He grit his teeth in frustration, finding renewed flame in his words. He hated these men. Hated their smell, their words, their very being and absolutely _hated_ that this would be his last stand. _His finale._ Not in the arms of a lover whose bed would actually be hid 'deathbed', but _here_. This rotten stone cell tucked away into who fucking knows where. He was going to die here and never see the bloody light of day again. Never hear a bird sing to inspire his newest melody, never hear the water streams as he travelled through towns. Never spot the familiar brown pelt of a horse, who seemed to be the smartest one he'd ever met. Never meet up with an old friend with golden eyes, faking his apathy but a silent understanding of truth in his silence.

 _"Fuck!"_ He screwed his eyes shut, dreading the pinprick of tears forming in the corners of his eyes. He could tell he was breaking down, reality seeping in through the bloodstains on his skin. They dripped freely down his chin, nothing able to wipe them from his face as they landed onto the stone. He didn't want to die. He was _terrified_ of dying. He just wanted to be safe and as far away from here as possible. He wanted to live. _"Fuck."_

He sat like this for what felt like an hour, shaking and wheezing in shallow breaths in the silent cell in his desperate attempts to calm himself. Why were they leaving him alone? It had been too long without interruption, too long without that _damn door_ opening and the smug prick walking in to repeat questions that had no answers. The suspense was wrecking his mind, it was too quiet and all he could hear was the stupid sound of his sobbing gasps. It was only when this fit of panic had finally passed that he slumped forward, still left on his own and not a guard in sight. Why was no one coming in? Was he really about to die? Is that why they hadn't come back for him, because he'd be dead _within the next minute_? If he died, then he wouldn't have to be in this cell anymore.

He coughed again, wishing he could bring one of the torches closer to try to stay warm.

Everything was too cold, like in the dirt-cheap and overly expensive building that man, _the horrible liar_ , had called an 'inn'. More like _inhumane_ to think anyone in their right mind could ever spend a winter night there. Dusty furniture sending up a cloud of dirt with every breath, holes in the ceilings letting in the snowfall and not even a hint of a fireplace in the room the innkeeper had called 'a suite fit for a Baron'. He should have haggled to get a bigger discount for their troubles. Or at least bargained for extra blankets. Geralt, bless his _soul,_ had brought in the extra furs from roach at least, the ones he was planning to sell to a trader come morning. So Jaskier wouldn't have to worry too strongly about hypothermia and Geralt had even suggested they sleep in the same bed to conserve warmth. It was probably the sound of Jaskier's chattering teeth that annoyed him. But he wasn't about to refuse the offer to finally be comfortable, so he'd shakily crawled under the blankets and pressed himself _very_ firmly against Geralt's side. _It_...well, it sucked if he was honest. Geralt was still wearing his armor, hadn't even bothered to remove the dirty leather pieces and that would explain why it was so uncomfortable under the blankets. 

Jaskier opened his mouth, ready to reprimand Geralt on his lack of nighttime routines and his words fell short as he blinked against the stone pressing into his cheek.

He had fallen over and was face-planted onto the ground. The lingering feeling of fur blankets left his body as he pulled himself upwards, disoriented as he searched the room. The cell. He sat in tense silence, feeling frustration build where there had once been confusion. _Of course he was hallucinating_ , He made a face, heart twisting in his throat as he slowed his irked breathing. He just had to go through one last hurrah before he died, _was that it?_ Too much of a bastard to think of... what the hell was her name, Claer? _Marysa_? Anyone that he'd spent a night of passion with.

No, _oh no_ , instead his brain falls back onto the memory of the absolute worst night at an inn he'd ever experienced in all his days. He'd gotten the absolute _worst_ cold and lost his voice for a week, a week before he was even able to go through the harmonic scales. Geralt had called it the one week he could finally say he'd hiked through the valleys in peace. 

But,

He knew that was a lie, he could tell from the expensive herbs Geralt had bought from the villages to make him teas that'd allowed him to at least whisper short stories. He'd remembered to add the honey too, remembering after a brief moment years ago where they had a discussion about making things more enjoyable, _especially_ if he had to drink the roots of a dying tree. Made sure to remind him to buy warmer, more functional, and less vibrant clothing that did more than call attention to himself when they parted ways again.

He leaned forward to rest his cheek against his knee and let out a tired sigh, recalling more adventures. He'd never really enjoyed himself as much as he did on those adventures. Like discovering a new love with each moment of heart-stopping excitement, each voice, each forgotten story unveiling itself in front of him. And even when all that would happen, he'd still be safe at the end of the day. Running after Geralt with jokes and stories to occupy them until they reached town and said their temporary farewells. Jaskier huffed with a small smile, swallowing thickly with a constricted throat. It was too much of a chore to keep his eyes open anymore, rage leaving his skin and instead leaving the cold truth. He was really going to die here. His last breath was going to be inside the confines of this cobblestone room, his dying wish to see anything past these walls forgotten. Jaskier coughed weakly, letting his head hang in front of him with no strength left to hold it high.

If _anyone_ deserved to die in peace, he hoped it was him. He let his eyes shut, fully accepting the chances he'd open them again were slim. This would be fine. He'd be fine, in the end. Vyecher was probably leaving him to stew in his own misery before finally letting the magic do its work. He didn't care anymore, he wouldn't. He would no longer raise his head when the door opened again. Wouldn't speak when his name was called out. He'd barely even registered the hands that cupped his face and pulled his gaze upward.

Where they met with a pair of bright yellow eyes. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> See you all soon! Dont forget to hydrate and get some rest ;D


	10. Familiar Paths

  
They were both frozen for a minute, both silent as if expecting the other to finally start talking. It was within this minute that Geralt realized his medallion had been humming lightly against his chest and he narrowed his eyes. Something seemed... _off_ about Jaskier, like his skin was buzzing with hidden power. He lowered his hands to grip at his collar, just his luck that this would be nothing but deceit. He couldn't help the growl as he picked him up by his shirt, ignoring the faint noise the man in front of him made. "Where is Jaskier?" He pushed him back against the stone, already listening for any sign of enemy coming from behind. He was done playing games, and it anything else tested him they'd have their head caved in. 

This 'Jaskier' played his part well, grimacing as his bound arms behind him were pressed behind in the most uncomfortable position. "Geralt, I-" He huffed, recoiling as the Witcher dragged his back higher against the stone. The chains rattled a little too loudly for his liking. "What the hell are you on about?" If this was another hallucination of his, gods he wished he didn't feel it on his back so much. Or at least let him hallucinate a nicer version of Geralt. This one felt too close to the one from their last journey. _"It's me-"_

"The bard that was taken," Geralt frowned as he interrupted, not detecting a changed heartbeat in the man in his grasp. They weren't afraid. They weren't lying about anything. So why did his skin feel _wrong?_ Both Jaskier's skin and his medallion shared the same small vibrations, unless... He paused, glancing down before using a gloved hand to lift Jaskier's bloodied shirt at the hem. No signs of injury to him, at least to a normal human eye. With focused precision, he could slowly begin to see a faint glow radiating off the bard. If not for his Witcher's senses, he may have missed the crucial detail. He was Jaskier, not some illusion or disguise, but had been repeatedly exposed to some unknown magic. 

But it was _him._

His relief was short-lived as he brought his gaze up and found Jaskier's head hanging low. "Jaskier, can you hear me?" Geralt brought him back down to the ground gently, releasing his shirt to check for a pulse. No response other than a rapid pulse as Jaskier slumped against his shoulder. _"Fuck_ , alright. Just hold on." Wrapping his arms around him, Geralt made quick work at picking at the shackles from Jaskier. He'd already gotten one hand loose, letting it fall limp to the ground. It was only when he'd begun pulling the other one out of the chains that Jaskier jolted in his arms. _Must be a sore limb,_ Geralt let his gaze fall when he felt the mutter against his armor. He moved back to sit on his heels, allowing for Jaskier to speak clearly. "What?"

"I liked the you at the inn more. _This_ one rather sucks." Jaskier spoke quietly, eyes still closed.

"What are you talking about?"

Jaskier scoffed, opening his eyes tiredly. With a sad smile, he brought his hands up to push against Geralt's armor. He'd had a hand placed against the bloodied leather, using the other to hold him steady on the ground, but hadn't moved. His eyes had widened and it almost felt like he'd forgotten how to breathe. His hand was on Geralt's leather. He could see and feel the leather, albeit the very much _disgusting and dirty_ leather but his hand was there. He wasn't dreaming. This was real? _"You_...You're here?" He leaned back, hand now loosely gripping the armor with shaking hands. This was fake. This was just an illusion, he'd _died_ in this cell. Geralt was far away, hidden and safe with the princess. _"Geralt, you're here?"_

Geralt stayed quiet, watching as the air of confusion enveloped Jaskier. A seed of guilt planted itself in his stomach, watching Jaskier run a hand through his slightly matted hair. Parts of it were covered in dried blood. _"I'm here."_ He sighed, moving his hands to cover Jaskier's and gently removed them from his armor. How long did Jaskier endure believing Geralt would allow him to be killed? He knew their argument was.. _.painful,_ but he'd never imagined it would affect him like this. Geralt moved his hands to his small pouch, taking out a small vial. He held it out, beginning to get to his feet. "Drink this."

Taking it in hesitant hands, Jaskier grimaced as he felt a familiar buzz coming from the bottle. He wanted to chuck it against the furthest corner of the room, rather than even bring it near his lips. Just _holding_ it in his hands brought a growing throb in his fingertips and this churning ache in his stomach. "What is it?"

Geralt held a hand out, helping Jaskier to his feet. The sooner they got to Roach outside and activated the portal, the better. "Something that will help." He walked to the end of the hall, peering down the dark corridor. Silence, at least for now. His medallion hadn't stopped humming and it worried him how calm the keep appeared now. Like a branch about to snap after being pulled back. It was then he focused back to the room, where Jaskier's heart was still thumping wildly behind him. "Take the potion." He glanced behind him at Jaskier, who hadn't moved from where he'd risen. He was still looking through the bottle like he hadn't heard him. " _Drink_ it, Jaskier."

He seemed to have pulled Jaskier from his deep thinking, as his head snapped up to meet Geralt's gaze. He lowered the bottle slightly, shoulders following suit. "I...I _appreciate_ the gesture, Geralt. I just don't think-" He winced, dropping the bottle like it had stung him. The glass shattered on impact, liquid contents splattering against the stone. "Uh...Sorry."

Geralt took out another potion, pressing it firmly into his hands. He only had two left, brought them in case of a worst-case scenario. And while this wasn't _exactly_ it, Jaskier wasn't _exactly_ healthy. He could hear it in his heartbeat and smell it from the anxiety lacing his skin. He needed whatever it was ailing Jaskier to be healed, so he could focus on getting them back topside. The vibrations from his chest were a constant now, and if there were anything magical and dangerous within the walls it'd be near _impossible_ to detect if Jaskier didn't drink the potion. It was just meant to help cancel anything out. Wasn't anything too strong anyway, not for a human. "Jaskier, drink the potion so we can go."

" _I_ don't feel well," Jaskier shook his head and pushed the bottle back, "And I don't think this is going to help right now."

Geralt pushed back with more force, wrapping his hand tightly around Jaskier's and the bottle. "Jaskier, I'm not asking again. Drink it and then we'll leave."

"You didn't ask _at all_ , actually _"_

_"Jaskier."_

_"Geralt."_

" _Damn it_ , Jaskier." Geralt huffed in frustration, uncorking the bottle and holding it against Jaskier's chest with unyielding strength. The more time they wasted with negotiating a drink, the less time Jaskier had for the potion to help heal him and the less time Geralt had to prepare should more soldiers find them. He had to be ready and this wasn't helping. " _Don't be a fool_. Just drink the damn thing, we need to move. _Now._ "

Jaskier, holding Geralt's wrist with both hands, sighed with begrudging acceptance. Taking the minty scented liquid, he threw it back like alcohol. It had stung his throat the same anyway, but he still did it. _"There. You happy?"_ He shot Geralt an indignant look, raising an eyebrow and throwing his arms out for more effect. However, Geralt, the never reacting audience simply rolled his eyes and readied his sword. He'd begun making his way down the hall, Jaskier now following suit. The first few steps felt strange, after being dragged and beaten. Not that you could tell anyway. Jaskier breathed slowly, attempting to calm his breathing as he walked through the hall. He'd made sure to step over the drying pools of blood as best he could, not even wanting to see if he could recognize his tormentors from the corpses. It made his head swirl, the smell of iron and blood and the now more noticeable rise pain from somewhere inside him.

It was like a stew bubbling over a fire, long forgotten by the cook.

It kept boiling.

And it _seethed_ inside him.

Geralt had turned halfway through the second hall, igniting the torches he'd passed to make it easier to see for his bard. "We need to get to Roach, do you think you can walk that far?" He tensed, watching as Jaskier suddenly twitched with a groan. Jaskier had begun curling into himself, nearly losing his balance as he made his way to him. Not only this, but his medallion had actually begun to hum again. _"What the fuck?"_ Geralt swore, turning to see if there was some intruder and finding none currently, ran for Jaskier.

Jaskier had stumbled to his knees, arms shaking as he heaved into the stone. He could feel someone else's blood begin to soak through the pants, cold sensation a small branch of focus to cling onto as the first wave of sickness came. The firm hand on his shoulder was grounding and strong and-

" _Oh fuck-_ " His stomach clenched as he retched with shaking arms. He could taste the potion he'd been given back in his cell, bitter and sour. _Wait, no. That might be the bile._ Jaskier coughed harshly, shaking his head and clenching his eyes shut. If he looked down onto whatever _wretched_ concoction he'd just splattered onto the ground it would end badly. " _Definitely_ not the bile, bile's not meant to prickle the tongue with bits of _leaves-_ " He retched again, dry heaving and he finally sunk back onto his heels, breathing heavily.

"Here." 

He only managed to partially his eyes, swallowing with a grimace. Jaskier probably looked disgusting right now, what with all the blood and the grime, and now the vomit. _Definitely needed a bath for about a week._ He remained still to slow his breathing, spitting out whatever acrid taste he had left in his mouth. It took a moment for Jaskier to focus the pouch held in front of him, taking it with shaking hands. He couldn't help the way his voice wavered as he looked up at Geralt with nervous eyes. _"...Potion?"_

"Not anymore." Geralt had a remorseful look in his eye. He'd always have to make the situation worse, didn't he? He should have _listened._

Jaskier gave a weak chuckle, pausing between sips to breathe. The water had helped the burn in his throat, but the burning in his cheeks hadn't faded at all. "Y-yeah, _yeah_ , suppose that's fair. Not much waste of hard-earned potions if I happen to send the _water_ back up instead; Right, Geralt?" He continued to laugh, but it wasn't like how Geralt had remembered. Not the light and familiar tone of joy he'd come to find comfort in before. 

This laugh was bitter. Bitter and...sad.

"Jaskier, I-"

"Why did you come here, _Geralt?"_ Jaskier, now finding the strength to get to his feet, stood and roughly handed the pouch back into Geralt's own. He'd only wavered for a second, ignoring Geralt's open arms of support. It only made him angrier to see him care again. Why does he have to keep _falling_ for this? This endless cycle of hurt and _compassion?_ "I was ready to lay my bloody life here, to _die_ for you! And yet you keep coming back and not even letting me finally accept the fact that _I'm worthless to you?"_ Jaskier pushed Geralt back, voice rasping in its intensity. "I'd left you alone like you'd wanted a-and even then you _still_ show up even though you-" Jaskier coughed loudly, voice cracking as the violent wheezing brought tears to his eyes.

Geralt had only stood stoically in the fire lit hall, not even trying to get a word in. Before he'd even said a word, his eyes and body were already continuing the conversation. "This wasn't what I wanted and you _arent_ worthless. What happened in those mountains, it wasn't right. And I wasnt able to find you after Cintra, not with Cir-...my Child surprise..." He paused, reaching out to the trembling hand grasping at Jaskier's hair, still plastered to the side of his skull. "She needed _protection_ and if you-."

Jaskier hit Geralt in the chest with his fist. _Weakly,_ but with a quiet thump. "If _you_ had just decided to stay somewhere safe with you Child Surprise, life would have taken me off your hands! _Once and for all!"_ Jaskier hit Geralt again, frustrated tears brimming the edges of his eyes. He continued this for about a minute, hits shrinking in strength until finally, he stopped lifting his fists. They had stood there in silence, one breath shaking while the other remained calm. Then Jaskier spoke again, voice timid and nearly missable. _"...Why did you come for me?"_

"...Because that's what friends _do._ " Geralt replied in a hushed voice. He'd been travelling for several decades already, many of those in solace and with no one to talk to besides Roach. He'd thought that was the perfect way to live and to die. With nothing but the swords on your back and coin in your pouch. And yet _now_ , now that he'd grown closer to Ciri and Yennefer, to Jaskier, he realized it made going through each day easier for his mind. He could say he had close friends and though it was frightening, though he'd never admit it, to think of something happening to any of them, it was something that made him _grateful._

He'd already spent a large portion of his life avoiding the thought of getting close to people, he wasn't about to lose the only ones he'd had left.

"Jaskier, I'm sorry. Please, _forgive me."_

Jaskier stayed silent, wiping away the remnants of the sick on his sleeve.

For a moment, unwanted thinking was crawling back up Geralt's spine. Maybe he really had been too late. Not to save Jaskier from his death but rescuing him from their _own_ fight of bloody words. Was there hate left over after Geralt tore at Jaskier? He began to think of his own guilt when Jaskier breathed out a small laugh again.

"You..." Jaskier used the back of his dirty hand to clear his eyes, patting Geralt with an open palm. "You, _dear friend_ , are are forgiven. But only when you've finally bathed. You look terrible and smell the part."

"So do you." There it was again, that feeling of calm from their tame arguments as they bickered. His guilt ridden fears were for naught, and he found comfort in this as he pulled Jaskier's arm over his shoulder. He'd need the support if they were to climb back out of the keep and they still had to hurry.

His medallion hadn't quieted.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Happy birthday to somebody! I dont know who but I hope you read this! :D


	11. A Fighting Spirit

"...and when I woke up, I found my self restrained in a way that _wasn't_ fun." Jaskier continued rambling quietly against Geralt's armor. After a while, they both realized that it was easier to just let him talk in case he passed out. He'd quiet when Geralt told him to, as if he'd suddenly heard something, but when nothing attacked them he would speak again.

The sound of birds from outside was beginning to echo through the stairs.They were nearly out.

Geralt hummed quietly, adjusting Jaskier's arm from around his neck as they trudged upstairs. If he was honest, he'd never really thought Jaskier would fight as dirty as he had just told him. Then again, he'd never actually _seen_ Jaskier fight. If anything, in their adventures it was always _him_ fighting. Him at the front and Jaskier standing at a safe distance, for about a second, before heading facefirst into trouble. "It was a good attempt to free yourself." He slowed his steps once they made it to the last floor, marked by a familiar body sprawled over the final stairway. "Even if it didn't work."

"Yeah, _it was_ , wasn't it?" Jaskier let out a small huff, nodding loosely to his left. He had grabbed his dagger back from Geralt's belt after he was... _unwell_ downstairs and was holding onto it with a tight grip. It was more comforting to have something familiar, something to fight with again if he needed it. _He might need it. Why would he need it?_ "Next time, I think my little dagger and I will be the victor-." He sucked in a large and shaky breath, feeling his wrist tense in Geralt's grip. The room had spun for a moment, just as they reached the top of the stairs and suddenly the light he'd been so desperate to see was blinding. It was dawn. "Give me a minute, would you?" Jaskier felt himself be leaned against the brick wall to his left and with shaking hands covered his eyes. _Bloody hell,_ he was freezing. That had to be why he was shaking, anyway. He just needed a minute to warm up in the beautiful warmth of the sun's embrace and he'd be fine.

"How long?"

Jaskier peered out from behind his palms with a squint, watching as Geralt began another inspection under daylight. He couldn't get his eyes to focus yet, let alone speak. His silence must have been enough of a response.

"How long have you been exposed to magic?" Geralt lifted Jaskier's arm, turning it at an angle where the torn fabric slipped and showed his skin. While stained, there was nothing else but a small freckle on his elbow. And yet, Jaskier winced at the limb being turned like that. There was no injury anymore, but for a moment Jaskier saw a flash of bone. They'd gotten him again while he was singing a line of chorus. _But there was no longer any kind of mark. How did he-_ Geralt tapped the side of his head, taking a moment to make sure he hadn't somehow managed to pass out with eyes open."I can see it buzzing off you, and the wolf hasn't stopped humming since I found you." Geralt grasped the string of his medallion and motioned with it, letting it swing between them for emphasis.

Ground no longer warping beneath him, Jaskier sighed and let his hands fall. His dagger would be better off stored by his belt, anyway. "Ah, right. Forgot about your witcher-y business for a second there." He made a move to adjust his sleeve before pausing, realizing it wouldn't do much to keep the fabric in place. "I...Well, I guess I can't really say for sure. Stopped being able to keep track after the 4th time I saw the mage." Jaskier let his voice fall, suddenly very aware of the staring coming from behind him. "Luckily, I wasn't conscious," He pushed himself off the wall, making a show of dusting himself off as best he could, hoping to not catch Geralt's gaze. He didn't need any coddling _right now_ , later yes as much as he could get, but right now he needed to finally get out of this horrid place. Clearing his throat, he patted Geralt's crusted sleeve and put on a smile. "But, judging from the blood bath inside I figured you'd already gotten revenge for me. And serves the bloody bastard right-"

"I didn't."

He froze, smile faltering for a moment as he began to notice Geralt's frown. "What's that?"

"I didn't kill a mage." Geralt kept a hand raised behind Jaskier, eyes scanning his surroundings in case he could see something move. This was only more difficult due to the fact that Jaskier was a beacon of magic, he couldn't rely on his medallion to alert him. "I never found one, only humans. He might still be alive," Geralt paused, beginning to reach for his sword. Despite his senses, he couldn't detect anything other than their own two heartbeats. One slower and calm, the other as fast as a rabbit's. His hand fell back to his waist. "Or at least not here anymore."

Jaskier let out a shaky breath, letting a hand snake up to his throat. Gods, he just wanted some water and some rest. "Oh. Good, _good,_ yeah, that's fine." He waved away Geralt's look of concern with a forced smile, heading across the bridge. At this point, his heart was pounding and he couldn't really tell if it was from the bloodloss, anxiety, or the idea of being able to finally go home. "I'd like to get as far away as possible from here now."

Geralt kept his pace beside Jaskier, hand ready in case he stumbled again. "We just need to make it to Roach, then we can go back. She's just over the hill past the bridge." He pointed off into the distance, already picking up the distant sounds of her huffs. She must have heard him coming, he could hear her hooves break through some fallen sticks from the bushes. As the two neared the hill, he began reaching into his pocket. His thumb ran over the cork of the small bottle in his hands, ready to bring it out once he'd gotten Jaskier onto Roach's back. "Yennefer gave us a way home, you won't need to travel far. Though I'm not sure how you'll do going through _more_ magic." He paused, images of Jaskier retching on the stone flashing behind his eyes. As much as he didn't think it was a good idea, it might be the only thing that would guarantee his safety. And he'd need medical assistance. Geralt crept a hand up to his own side, feeling a soreness grow by his ribs. He might need some too, judging by the irritation he felt. Must have paused a second too long, from the look currently gracing Jaskier's face. "I'm fine, just my potion's wearing off from earlier." He waved the other off, continuing his trek.

Jaskier must have felt wary, seeing as how instead of being right in front he was now keeping close to Geralt's back. Not even a half step behind him. Stepping into his shadow, and constantly trying to reach for his own hand held tightly over his injury. Wait. _Injury._ Geralt abruptly stopped, tilting his hand to see the new coat of red on his glove. "-Fuck."

Jaskier rubbed his nose, having collided with him, and his sight shot up to meet Geralt's own. When he saw Geralt's hand push back against his side, Jaskier couldn't help but feel his stomach clench. " _What?_ What is-" He could just barely spot the blood beginning to seep through Geralt's gloved fingers. "When the hell'd you get stabbed?" _How long had he been hiding it? If he'd had this the whole time, either witchers can barely register pain, which seems like another bullshit rumor or Geralt is a better actor then-_ "Wait, no. Shit!" Jaskier reached forward, taking a second to glance behind him when a cold hand wrapped itself painfully around his throat. Shit. Oh gods, oh Shit. Jaskier's mind raced, cold sweat donning his forehead when suddenly Geralt stumbled to the ground as his shoulder wept with another hit. _Vyecher._ Vyecher was still here and he was _right here_ and now he has _Geralt._

Jaskier wriggled against the cold hands pulling his arms into a familiar position behind him as Geralt was brought down to one knee. A new wound suddenly burst a wave of red on his collarbone, and as Geralt grunted in pain there was a quiet moment where Jaskier wished himself back in his cell. If he was down there, Geralt wouldn't be here. He was perfectly fine back downstairs, back in the cell.

Keeping everyone safe.

Geralt brought a rough hand to his neck, maintaining pressure and ignoring the blood that began coating the corner of his lips.

"Geralt!" Jaskier's heart pounded painfully in his ears, watching as his friend slowly rose to his feet. "Vyecher, _enough_!" Another tug wretched an arm free to smack his captor with a hard fist and with another shove he made it the entire first step, before a burst of cold stings in his ribcage caused him to fall facefirst into the dirt. "You _s-son of_ _a_ -" Jaskier muttered as he pulled himself into a tight ball, immediately recognizing which injury it was. One of the guards had left a nasty bruise on his stomach after the eight kick. He barely registered the boot stepping beside him, the sudden fall leaving his mind in a state of swaying noise and sight. He shut his eyes, rather focusing on the well of pain pulsing behind his arms.

"So glad to finally meet you, oh famed Witcher!" Vyecher stalked calmly between Jaskier and Geralt, palm cupped around a glowing light. He looked _pleased,_ the smug bastard. "I take it negotiations with the Captain went well?"

Geralt stood his ground, ignoring the growing wetness from underneath his armor. "So, you're the mage," He breathed in heavily, staring down at the attacker with closed eyes. How long had he been following him? Shit, how quickly did his magic course through him? He'd only made eye contact for a second and now he could feel a line scratching into the skin of his thigh. Like a more powerful form of decay curses. Or a twist on healing? _Something draining?_ He'd have to make note of it later. "Thought you'd be smart enough to leave once you saw your men were finished." He twitched as the mage, Vyecher apparently, began reaching down to grasp Jaskier by the hair. "Step _away_ from him." 

The mage scoffed, pulling Jaskier up to his knees. "Nevermind him, I'm speaking to you." IN spite of the warm sun beginning to peek through the trees, there was a cold chill as magical energy drifted towards Vyecher's hand. Almost as though stealing life from the area around them. The mage began stalking forward, taking a moment before instead sidestepping. "I see the legends of your skill proved true, was rather easy to follow the trail of blood down the corridor." Geralt caught a glance of Roach's ears past the bushes on his left, she hadn't run yet even though she hated being near creature of ill intent. _Deserves treats later._ "I'm here to follow my orders, seeing as no one else seems to be capable enough to do so." So another attempt at kidnapping Ciri, at least that much was familiar about the situation. He reached for Jaskier's dagger he'd stolen from the guards, realizing with a bitter acceptance that he'd already handed it back before they'd left the keep. "This Yennefer, another mage I assume, gave you a portal did she?" Geralt remained silent, mirroring Vyecher's circling with strides of his own. He'd heard enough of the conversation to steal any attempt of deceit away. One less hand on his side. "Oh come now, don't be shy. I very much prefer to get an answer when I ask a question." Vyecher spoke again, keeping his grip firm over Jaskier's shoulder.

A hoarse voice piped up, "I'd prefer you _perish_ -"

" _Shut it!_ " Vyecher snapped, tugging the hair balled in his palm with a sharpness like that of a blade. It was clear this wasn't the first time Jaskier hadn't stayed quiet, instead snarking back into a hand that could kill him. He was getting irritated, Geralt could tell by his tone and the scent of adrenaline wafting from the sweat on his brow. Geralt took a hesitant step forward, hoping to get close anough to use one of his signs but was cut short. "You're to open that portal _, Witcher!_ " Vyecher pointed a finger in his direction, the light of his palm only dimming slightly from the anger. He was losing control. "Under the orders of the Nilfgaardian Empire." The magic swirled momentarily, finding its steady rhythm once Vyecher had calmed. 

Geralt steadied his breath, taking a moment to spit out the bitter red from his lips. He hadn't made a move forward again, not this time. "And if I refuse?"

Vyecher frowned, squinting slightly in the approaching sun as he placed his lighted palm against Jaskier's throat. "I let you live, long enough to watch every mortal wound rupture from this bard's flesh." Geralt grit his teeth, catching the panic lacing Jaskier's gaze in silence. "Then I open _yours_." Vyecher pulled his hand away, motioning to Geralt with a carefree gesture. "The life of a Witcher is not one for those easily broken, I've heard. Tell me, how many scars do you think I will tear open before you finally break?" His shoulder twitched, feeling another vine of magic wrapping itself with spikes down his back. He'd forgotten about that scar. He never kept count of how often his life would be so near death. "Even if _you_ won't speak, the body of a slaughtered witcher should prove useful to locating the Princess. Amongst other things." Geralt felt his heart race for a moment, he wouldn't be the first corpse found of his kind. Had already found others as he walked through his life. Yet, bodies could be used as tracking materials. And the number of secrets he'd gathered in his travels, the innocents that would be slain... He glanced back up, eye twitching as the small line he'd felt grow in heat. "The longer you take, the longer this line will grow witcher."

"Enough." He cut off. Almost at the second he'd spoken, he'd felt the tearing stop. He raised both hands, lowering one to his pocket. "This is the portal, don't hurt him." Geralt revealed the bottle slowly, catching the not so subtle shaking of Jaskier's head from across him. _Yes,_ he knew this plan was shit. Hardly a plan, more of an estimate of how quickly he could move before he bleeds out. But if the two of them die, there would be two souls less that could help. Geralt uncorked the bottle, eyes never leaving Vyecher as he poured the greying sand into the grass and took steps back. "Wolfsbane." The sand lifted, beginning to spin above the ground and push air through as it reached its connection. A forested hillside could be seen through the glowing lights. The way home. "You can let him go now."

Jaskier moved to step forward, stopped by the clawed grip of Vyecher's hands at his shoulders. "Ah, but then I'd lose my last card wouldn't I?" Vyecher smiled coldly, holding his palm out to Geralt. THe wither had gone wide eyed for a moment, a pained groan leaving his lips as he wrapped an armored glove around his chest. "No, your songbird will escort me through. _Then_ you can feel free to bleed into the dirt." He wrapped an arm around Jaskier's throat, pulling him back towards the portal as Geralt was hit with a wave of putrid light.

Jaskier felt ice drop into his stomach, unable to tear his eyes away from where Geralt hit the ground with a muffled groan. " _No!_ " He kicked at the grass, now dirt and fallen leaves as they passed through a light so blinding it made his thoughts swirl. He could hear the cursing in his ear, and despite the movements made by Vyecher, it didn't look as though he was able to control the portal. Wasn't able to close it. He could still help.

"You're going to wish you'd _killed me_ back in the cave!" Jaskier fought against the hold, furious and desperate. He could feel the beginning of more wounds growing under his skin, climbing to the surface. He didn't care, he didn't care whatsoever and with a frenzy managed to get himself being held tightly. His upper arms and chest were being bound by Vyechers arms, and Jaskier bucked against him with all the force he could muser to what looked like no avail. It honestly felt like something from his tales. Fighting as if some higher calling would send in a hand to aid- His hand brushed something. A hard object by his belt _, not like that,_ and for once he was glad no one had been in his pants recently.

He realized that he still had the dagger tucked into his pants. Beneath his belt and once _again_ didn't get himself stabbed in the scuffle.

How the hell he'd managed to bring it out he really couldn't say. But sweet, _sweet_ Melitele was it an unspoken blessing that he put that dagger right into Vyecher's thigh. They clattered to the ground, inches from the portal in a heap of shouts. Shouts someone had to have heard. Someone including the little miss sunshine mage he now knew lived somewhere nearby with a child. Vyecher quickly realized his plans, clamping a hand over his mouth and raised the other with a swirling light. He felt the skin of his shoulder begin to bubble, singeing through his soul in cold unnatural heat. His back arched as he fought, and as luck would have it Vyecher made a mistake. 

_His hand slipped._

Now instead of Jaskier's screams echoing throughout the hillside, it was _his._ His shrill scream of agony as Jaskier clamped down on his palm and refused to let go of no matter how hard Vyecher hit his skull with hard fists. A moment passed and Jaskier's jaw fell slack as he saw white, that slice of opportunity just enough to allow Vyecher to curse and rise to his feet with a running start. Jaskier fell back, panting harshly and eyes shut as he willed his stomach to settle. _Yennefer, you'd better take that bastard right down to the depths of hell._ He thought tiredly, rolling to his good side and getting to his own trembling feet. _Fuck,_ he could hear his own heartbeat throbbing through his fingers and it wasn't comforting in the slightest. He wasn't going to be able to fight again. Not like this. He had to get to Geralt, make sure he wasn't... No. H _ad to get to Roach_ , through the portal and into Roach's bags to find the potions. He wasn't going to be able to help, could already see his own sight dimming and if it came down to it he might end up passing out in a ditch somewhere. _He had to get Geralt_. Jaskier froze in front of the swirling air as figures passed through.

Bloodied and looking like he'd been slapped at with a handful of dirt, Geralt had an arm wrapped around Roach's lead. He tossed an empty bottle to the ground, apparently having just enough luck to have a single potion left. "Where's the mage?" Geralt spoke rapidly, looking at everything except Jaskier at first. It only took a second to recognize his surroundings. He was by the cave, on the opposite side he'd been accustomed to. He dropped Roach's lead, finding the magic healing rapidly and allowing him to be able to walk on his own again.

" _Up_ -" Jaskier coughed, wiping his bloodied mouth with a torn sleeve. "Up the hill, go."

He could see the hesitance in Geralt's eyes, drifting to the fresh blood. He could probably smell it. Hell, _he_ could smell it. "S'not mine. _Go,_ " Jaskier pushed Geralt, finding the strength to remain balance as he shoved. This wasn't the time, Vyecher could be with the others already. Could be leaving behind more bodies. "Save them, Go! I'll be there in a minute." Jaskier reached a hand to his shoulder, fingertips just barely skimming the top of the branding with a wince. He'd seen Geralt disappear into the bushes, so now he'd have a moment to rest. Sit down, take a breather and hang back until things were done. He let his eyes fall to his boots, still stained with old blood. He'd really liked those, now he had to buy a new pair. He shut his eyes, pinching his nose and waited a breath. "Ohhhh... _dammit._ " He swore, finding momentum as he abruptly began heading for the hilltop. He really needed to be up there too, didn't he?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Stay safe, everyone


End file.
